


All Roads Lead to Coruscant

by MissKitsune08



Series: The Freak Fleet [9]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Imperials, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-10-29 03:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 62,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10845939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissKitsune08/pseuds/MissKitsune08
Summary: Members of the High Command are invited along with their senior staff to Imperial Palace for the celebration of Empire Day. Direct sequel toSecond Chances&Chance Encounters. Legends cast in Rebels. Mix of Canon and Legends.“It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts.”- A.C. Doyle





	1. Imperial State of Mind

It was Empire Day, an anniversary of the rise of the Galactic Empire, Emperor Palpatine’s ascension to the throne, and the end of the Clone Wars. All planets under the rule of the Galactic Empire staged festivities and military parades with mandatory attendance, with the grandest celebrations of course being held at Imperial Center itself.

Members of the High Command have been invited along with their senior staff to Imperial Palace, and mandatory attendance applied to Grand Admiral Thrawn as well, much to the Chiss’s antipathy for social gatherings and prestigious festivities.

One of the Emperor’s hand-picked few could not have been possibly absent from the biggest event of the year, gritting his teeth, going as far as attending the main event at the Grand Reception Hall, engaging in the small talk with other Grand Admirals, the Grand Generals, the Grand Moffs, and anyone else who happened to held either a substantial rank or an aristocratic title for themselves, or simply happened to be in the Emperor’s favor for the moment.

Since Captain Pellaeon and Colonel Covell didn’t fall into the either category, they decided to take advantage of the mandatory attendance to find Commander Riza among the crowd of senior officers to ask her about her new life aboard the ISD _Relentless_.

Much to their dismay, her commanding officer followed them around no matter how hard they tried to dissuade him, thus they found themselves once again in the company of Captain Dorja, one of the Coruscanti snobs who had received the invitation to the Grand Reception due to his family connections. At least thanks to the Coruscanti they were admitted to one of the private booths with a balcony ten floors above the Reception Hall, watching the maze of the humans and aliens from far above.

“No wonder you are best buddies with Colonel Veers.” Captain Dorja looked down at Colonel Covell with an open contempt. “Neither of you would be good enough to polish my shoes back at my family manor.” 

Covell might have originated from Corulag, but his pedigree hardly fit the image of a typical Core Worlder. In fact the Colonel despised everything the center of the Galaxy stood for since the ancient times of the Galactic Republic. In Covell’s opinion, the Core Worlds has always kept all the money for themselves, turning the Rim Worlds into their colonies, cutting deals with indigenous populations or simply overrunning them. And he truly believed the New Order would bring the peace and prosperity to the entire galaxy, including the Outer Rim Territories, at which Dorja laughed to his face, telling him it's all about credits, Republic or Imperial. 

The planet of Coruscant, renamed Imperial Center after the transformation into the Galactic Empire, held the hyperspace coordinates 0-0-0 on all standard navigation charts, and as the name and the coordinates suggested, the planet had always been the center of the trade and commerce, no matter who ruled it, as well as the home to the most influential clans of the Galactic Republic that survived even the Clone Wars and thrived again under the Galactic Empire.

Captain Dorja was a Coruscanti noble, therefore the living embodiment of everything the Colonel despised. Even taking all that into account, there was a no real animosity between the two men, not anymore. The two laserbrains simply couldn’t resist throwing verbal darts at each other, neither willing to concede defeat. Both were more stubborn than an average Corellian, something that Pellaeon, a pure-blooded Corellian himself, could easily confirm.

“Good for you because we would have spat on your shoes while polishing them,” Covell threw back immediately, his eyes getting a distant, dreamy look, taking too much pleasure at the thought. “Coruscanti snob.”

“Nerfherder,” Dorja threw back, pouring more tea into his cup, then adding the milk, stirring the tea by moving the teaspoon back and forth in an up-and-down motion. Once he was done he placed the teaspoon lengthways along the back of the saucer, held the cup by the handle and brought it up to his mouth, sitting straight, avoiding leaning forward.

Covell was watching him with his eyes narrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line, presumably debating whether it was safe in the company of Imperial Naval officers to spit out few mean words about the impossibly snobbish way the Coruscanti was drinking his tea.

Pellaeon rolled his eyes.

For the past hour, the two laserbrains had behaved so ridiculously that he had considered yanking them off their feet and smashing their heads against each other. The only reason why he didn’t, the real reason why the two kept going with the charade, was because it brought a sweet smile to Commander Riza’s lips, making her stifle a laugh more times Pellaeon could ever recall during her time at the ISD _Chimaera_.

Riza was positively beaming. She might have been behaving nothing out of ordinary on duty; serene force on the surface, always polite to people around her, a pure professional on the bridge at all circumstances. However, Pellaeon and Covell had been friends with Riza for years, or as close as to friends as the regulations allowed them to be. They knew how hollow she had been inside, and they could immediately see the turn her life had taken after she got reassigned to the ISD _Relentless_.

And what, or rather, _who_ , had caused the change.

And not only her. Captain Dorja, one of the biggest assholes in the Imperial Navy (not the number one though, there _were_ bigger assholes around, even Pellaeon and Covell had to give him a little credit) transformed into a very responsible Captain who took an excellent care of his crew.

Dorja’s command style might have been controversial at first, easily mistaken for a series of acts of cowardice, but once he got the chance to prove himself, it became clear that Dorja was simply the cautious type, motivated primarily by the concern for his crew rather than for his own well being, with _Relentless_ becoming the ship known for the lowest number of causalities in the Seventh Fleet.

Grand Admiral Thrawn, damn him to the depths of the Nine Hells, once again proved he had an uncanny ability to bring out people’s hidden abilities and mold them into his perfect soldiers. Except for the tiny little detail the Chiss had missed when he made the decision to pair Dorja with Riza, giving birth to a duo that sent shivers up to the smugglers' and the insurgents' spines alike.

The Grand Admiral would have never paired them with each other had he thought of the inevitable avalanche he would trigger, for this was one of the things that violated the strange code of conduct the Chiss had. There was only one possible explanation Pellaeon could come up with, the Chiss must have assumed that their sense of professionalism would prevent them from acting upon their growing affection for each other.

“The Grand Admiral is not interested in becoming one of them,” Covell snapped, his voice full of barely restrained fury. 

Pellaeon realized he become so immersed in his own musings that he had missed a couple of insults the two laserbrains threw at each other. What was this about? Had the two of them lost it and reverted back to their old selves, digging up the old petty grudge? Pellaeon would have to intervene. The Grand Admiral had made himself crystal clear: he wanted all members of his senior command staff be able to work as a team.

“I’ll give you that one but it appears that he needs at least their political and financial backing. Otherwise would not have spent most of the day in the company of Governor Pryce.”

Ah, Dorja might have unintentionally pushed the Colonel’s buttons.

A poisonous hiss escaped Covell, his lips drew back in a snarl. After the battle of Batonn, the army man had his own reasons to despise Moff Pryce and all the military governors as a whole. And after the battle of Atollon, Pellaeon joined the club.

“The Grand Admiral says that a victory and a defeat are often determined by the smallest detail,” Dorja made wide a hand gesture, pointing down at the Grand Reception Hall. “Imagine how many secret doors it could have opened for him in the Core Worlds had the Grand Admiral mastered their customs to the point even the most powerful Coruscanti Clans took him seriously. Imagine if he had Kuati eating straight from his hand. The Kuat Drive Yards would be fully at his disposal.”

For a moment Covell looked like he was seriously considering throwing Dorja over the railing to join the rest of his kind. Then abruptly he withdrew and crossed his arms.

Dorja continued, “I am neither a brilliant tactician like Thrawn nor a shady politician like Pryce but this is my element, Covell. I grew up among these people. No matter what you think of me, I _am_ a Coruscanti noble. I could teach him a couple of things, you know. If anyone can beat them at their own game, it’s him. I can tell because sometimes he even has me fooled. I just don’t know how to get the point before I end up in a body bag for striking a serious blow to his ego.”

Dorja let out a small sigh and took the teaspoon out of Riza’s cup, putting it lengthways along the back of the saucer as it should have been. “You can’t pour the milk before the tea, Hawkeye. Well, technically you can, just not here in the Imperial Palace. Servants of a large house poured the milk first because they used to drink from unrefined clay mugs which could crack from the heat. The nobles who drank from fine porcelain didn’t.”

Dorja then gave her a lopsided grin as if to let her know that it had not been meant to be a reprimand.

 _Oh, you are threading on a very thin ice, Dorja, though for a very different reason than you think,_ Pellaeon thought.

“If you are ever served tea with milk and lemon,” Dorja continued his lecture on Coruscanti egalitarianism, “and don’t know which blend goes with milk and which goes with lemon, drink it plainly like the Grand Admiral does. You won’t give yourself away so easily.”

“Is this how Konstantine chose his senior staff?” Covell retorted, giving the kettle a dubious look. The Colonel made his opinion of the custom quite clear to Pellaeon over a glass of a Corellian whiskey not long ago.

_“You scrambled around like mad hellions, got your troops and vehicles on the ground and set up and then you stood around waiting for those strutting Fleet people in their spotless uniforms and nice clean ships to finish sipping their tea and finally get around to letting you loose.”_

Though drinking tea was a favorite past time of Imperial Naval officers, serving tea with milk and lemon was something reserved only for the Coruscanti elite. The Grand Admiral couldn’t have possibly known which blend went with which, though he must have spent a considerable amount of time researching the topic.

“Among other things, yes,” Dorja gave him a miniscule nod, shrugging imperceptibly, “a standard part of the screening process.”

All three erupted into a gale of laughter, causing Dorja groan in annoyance, muttering something about them being nothing but mere peasants.

“You would be surprised how many powerful connections Konstantine had here on Coruscant.”

Dorja was certainly right about Admiral Konstantine being essentially untouchable; while the Chiss possessed a superior sense of self-control, Pellaeon suspected that deep down the Grand Admiral wished with all his Chiss heart he could have had Konstantine’s carcass ejected with the next garbage load without alienating half of the Imperial Center against himself.

“Hawkeye?” Pellaeon changed the topic, Admiral Konstantine’s command style was the last topic he ever wanted to talk about.  _He even came up with a nickname for her?_

“Oh, yes,” Dorja grinned, his tone full of pride, “that’s her official nickname on the _Relentless_. She earned it after she cleared all the targets in the shooting range in a time that placed her to the number one position among our troopers. And let’s just say she didn’t clear the targets by shooting them in the chest.”

There was no doubt the crew of the _Relentless_ learned their lesson. After her little trip to the shooting range there was no one stupid enough to not take the _Chimaera_ 's former executive officer seriously. Like many others on Thrawn’s senior staff, she carried her sidearm with her at all times.

“Hawkeye? Karin, please don’t take it personally,” Covell threw her an apologetic glance, using her first name for emphasis, then he shifted his gaze back to Dorja, giving him a scorn.

“I think your Army contingent should pay more attention to their guns and less attention to their Coruscanti manners, Dorja. Commander Riza is certainly great with a blaster for a Navy officer but that doesn’t make her ‘Hawkeye.’ If anything it makes her an above average frontline soldier, hardly a precision sharpshooter. She never made it to the hall of fame on the _Chimaera_.”

“It’s all right, Freja,” Riza assured him, taking no offense at Covell’s assessment of her abilities, “I told him pretty much the same.”

“Who cares?” Dorja bellowed. “Everyone on _Relentless_ likes it. _I_ like it. And I am the Captain, period.”

The Captain’s word was the law aboard his ship, and Pellaeon was pretty sure Dorja would have anyone’s hide if they as much as dared to contradict him on this particular point.

“Whatever,” Covell capitulated, he knew too well that the Captain outranked any Army personnel aboard the Star Destroyer. “It explains so much about your Army contingent’s performance during the surprise drill with _Chimaera_.”

“I would have taken an offense had I been a ground pounder,” Dorja gave him an evil smirk, his eyes gleaming. “But then, I am not.”

“Well, tell your ground pounders to spend more time in the shooting range and leave drinking tea to the star gazers,” Covell grunted, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, I will be sure to tell them, verbatim,” Dorja retorted, enjoying their barter far too much, “including the name and an affiliation of the person who said so.”

“They are welcome to come over to _Chimaera_ to show off their marksmanship skills at _any_ time. And to set the record straight, since I don’t want it to look like I am bragging, I am not the number one sharpshooter on _Chimaera_ either.”

Covell’s admission threw Dorja off guard for a moment, he had not expected a ground pounder to be able to address the limitations of his shooting skills so openly. He opened his mouth and closed it, swallowing whatever retort was on his tongue for it would have crossed the line.

Instead, Dorja took the teapot and served Covell a cup of tea in the exact same manner as he would have done for himself, adding the milk, stirring the tea by moving the teaspoon back and forth in an up-and-down motion.

Covell glowered but accepted the tea without a word, taking the cup to his lips, giving the pale brown liquid a suspicious frown, then openly scowling in disgust at the taste of the added milk.

“You really _are_ a snob, Dorja. How come you’re here with us instead of chasing the palace courtesans who would be more than willing to close their eyes and think of the Empire?” His eyes flickered between Dorja and Riza whose expression hardened. She had her eyes on Dorja, no doubt wondering the very same thing.

Dorja jerked, his body posture getting more and more rigid with each second, and he gripped the teapot so hard they could see his knuckles go pale white. Covell finally crossed the line. Pellaeon prepared himself for an inevitable emotional outburst that…

Never came.

To everyone’s surprises, Dorja took a deep breath and looked down at the Grand Reception, his eyes going over prestigious sons and daughters and their striking courtesan companions, the highest ranking representatives of the Empire, the near-humans and the non-humans from clans so rich and powerful that even the Coruscanti nobles had to put up with them and take them seriously, and finally resting on Prince Xizor surrounded by his harem.

“I don’t want to be a part of that world, Covell. Not any more,” Dorja confessed, his voice barely a whisper. Slowly, carefully, he placed the teapot back at the table and took a moment to compose himself.

By the Nine Hells, Dorja really _had_ changed.

“Well then, let’s go somewhere else,” Covell supplied immediately, watching Riza from the corner of his eyes. Her expression softened up at the confession, offering a silent support to her commanding officer.

“Somewhere they don’t have tea with milk on their drink menu. You don’t happen to know any seedy bars in the lower levels, Dorja?”

“What makes you think I have even been to the lower levels? You could hardly find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy!” Dorja exclaimed in horror, his eyes going wide, looking appalled at the notion.

Covell broke into an honest laughter. “Corulag moons! One day I’m taking you to Tatooine, Dorja, and I’m bringing the holocam with me because I can easily imagine your horrified expression upon seeing the real wretched hive of scum and villainy in Mos Eisley. Karin, you’ve been assigned to the Coruscant for a while, you don’t happen to know any seedy bar down there?”

“Well, we could go to the diner I used to visit back then,” Riza said awkwardly, her face warming up at the memory. She wasn’t exactly fond of Imperial Center either after being transferred to clean the floor of Imperial Palace as a punishment for punching a senator’s aide’s son in the face.

“A diner? The kind of place where people eat meals with their bare hands?” Dorja looked at her with astonishment, as if he couldn’t imagine his first officer ever going into such dubious establishment.

“How gauche.” 

 _Dork_   _!_

Covell appeared speechless for a second. “Dorja, don’t try to tell me you’ve never eaten food with you hands. No way! I don’t buy it! You may be a snob but you are still Navy!”

“Of course I have!” Dorja defended himself ferociously, an expression of hurt pride showing plainly on his face. “In boot camp!”

Pellaeon couldn’t recall ever seeing Covell so stunned. This was far worse than they all thought. “Well, we need to fill the gaps in your education, Captain! Don’t you agree, Karin?”

Riza was laughing so hard a tear appeared in the corner in her eyes. It might have been insubordination of the highest order but Dorja totally deserved it, and had he opted to rebuke her Pellaeon would take him aside and have a word him about behaving like number one _Guerfel_.

“Oh, definitely.”

“You two go ahead, order a drink or something,” Covell interjected, giving Pellaeon a gentle kick under the table, a clear sign to keep his mouth shut. “Comm me the address and we’ll join you once we find Veers. He’s as much of a Sedrian out of the water as we are.”

Riza took out her comm link and dictated the name and the address of the diner into the device, sending it over to Covell. Then she straightened her the uniform and slowly got to her feet, giving both of them a polite nod, and waited for Dorja.

Before taking his leave, the Coruscanti gave them his most snobbish bow.

“You realize this makes us the Sith advocates, don’t you?” Pellaeon muttered under his breath after the two finally got out of their sight. “We both know damn well it’s a clear breach of regulations. We shouldn’t be condoning such behavior, let alone conveniently pushing them into each other’s arms.”

“Yeah, I know,” Covell let out a deep breath and shook his head, “Karin’s had enough, though, Gilad, she deserves to be happy. I just can’t understand what she sees in that clod.” 

“Neither do I,” Pellaeon shrugged in resignation. “I guess it’s one of the things between the Light Side and the Dark Side that us Force Blinds will never understand.”

“Well, at least we got the green light from the boss,” Covell whispered, giving him a sly conspiratorial wink, pointing at the direction of the next booth. “I’ll go and have a word with Max. Tell the Grand Admiral ‘mission accomplished’ from me and join us later. I’ll introduce you. Colonel Veers is now stationed on Corellia. He’s even picked up quite a few _Olys Corellisi_   swearwords. Figured you might be interested in hearing news from home.”

 _Green light_ _? Mission accomplished?_ Pellaeon felt a strange creeping chill in his gut as he turned his head far enough to see the single occupant of the next private booth who to all appearances seemed completely oblivious to their presence. An Ancient Corellian saying came to his mind: _Saltan valoramosa n telval mord_ , which roughly translated into the Galactic Basic as ‘Assumption is the first step into a shallow grave.’

_By the Nine Hells, Freja, you got it all wrong…_

 

* * *

 

 

A small inclination of his head had been the only indication that the Chiss was aware of Pellaeon’s silent approach from behind and that he did not mind the intrusion upon his privacy after a long and tiring day spent at the Grand Reception.

“My patience has been tested today, Captain. Not only at the Grand Reception Hall.”

Of course, the Grand Admiral must have heard everything. The Colonel must have been aware of the fact. Covell would have made a very lousy front line soldier had he not scanned all private booths in their vicinity for possible threats. Unfortunately, he misinterpreted the Grand Admiral’s presence as endorsement.

“It was not my intention to listen in on your private conversation, Captain,” the Chiss shrugged apologetically, his attention on the mass of humans and aliens ten floors below them. “It is hardly my fault that humans are incapable of carrying out their personal affairs in an appropriate tone and volume.”

Still, the Grand Admiral could have chosen to step in and discipline them at any time. He hadn’t. While the reason might have not been obvious to Covell, it was to Pellaeon: the Chiss might not have approved but the curiosity got better of him. Thrawn wanted to know ‘Why?,’ studying everything and everyone around him, believing that all thoughts were worth listening to, whether later judged to be of value or not.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?” Pellaeon cleared his throat and came to stand next to the Chiss by the balcony railing.

“Granted,” the Grand Admiral reassured him in a low tone of voice, barely above a whisper, presumably an example of an appropriate tone and volume according to the Chiss. He filed it away as a mental note in case he ever needed to speak behind the Grand Admiral’s back in the future.

“We can’t help being humans, sir,” Pellaeon pleaded. The Grand Admiral was certainly not joking when he had said that his patience has been tested today.

The Chiss scowled. “I have said so already and I am saying it again: Humans behave like extremely spoiled Chiss children in a desperate need of corporal punishment.”

_The present company excepted, I hope?_

“Captain Pellaeon, please give me a very convincing reason why I shouldn’t have Colonel Covell reassigned to trash compactor duty. Permanently.” 

“I’m afraid Colonel Covell operates under the assumption he’s following your orders, sir,” Pellaeon tried hard not to squirm. The Grand Admiral has never vented out his frustrations on bystanders, however, there were times Pellaeon had really wondered about the limitations of Thrawn's sense of self-control.

In fact, Pellaeon himself had thought Thrawn had set Dorja and Riza up on purpose, no matter how out of character it might have been for him, so convinced it must have been a part of his greater plans that he had even blurted out in front of the Chiss.

Only it hadn’t been, thus when Pellaeon found out that that had not been Thrawn’s intention at all, he tried to save the situation by pleading for mercy on their behalf. This time, he might need take the one for the team. After all he was as guilty as the rest of them.

 _“Do you realize, Captain, what you are suggesting to me? They are a captain and a first officer of an Imperial Star Destroyer. In a direct chain of a command,”_ Thrawn had said back then.

 _“_ I believe I made myself clear that I had no such an inclination in mind when I had appointed Commander Riza as Captain Dorja’s first officer, Captain,” Thrawn chastised him. “I certainly do not need to explain my command decisions to any of my senior command staff. How does the Colonel even _dare_ assume he has been acting on my behalf this evening! Preposterous!”

A corner of the pale blue lips twitched in amusement at the absurdity.

 _Very thin ice, indeed._ Would he really overlook a breach of regulations? Would he really let it slide? Would he really pretend he never heard anything?

“Captain Pellaeon, despite what you might think, I _do_ take your advice under consideration. I would not have asked for your opinion had I not been interested in hearing what you have to say.” 

“You didn’t follow my advice regarding Ensign Vanto, sir,” Pellaeon reminded him. They accidentally stumbled upon the young man during a surprise inspection of an Imperial Information and Supply Outpost; Thrawn had overheard him speaking about the Chiss and didn’t let him off the hook until the Ensign spilled everything he knew about his people, which turned out to be nothing but campfire stories and far-fetched descriptions of Chiss supernatural abilities.

“No, I didn’t,” Thrawn conceded, giving him a small shrug in acknowledgment. 

After their chance encounter, the poor ensign’s career indeed took an unexpected turn, starting with a promotion to the lieutenant and finding himself aboard the ISD _Chimaera_ as Thrawn’s personal assistant. The Grand Admiral certainly had enough forms to fill to employ at least a dozen, how the Chiss even managed on his own until now was beyond Pellaeon’s comprehension.

As much as it pained him to admit it, Pellaeon never considered himself much of a father figure, as his own son, Mynar Devis, would have no doubt agreed. He could, however, see Mynar reflected in Lieutenant Vanto so when he noticed how apprehensive the young man had been about his new role, Pellaeon took him aside and explained to him that as long as the Lieutenant performed his duty to the best of his abilities, the worst thing that could ever happen to him would be a whole day lecture about Thrawn’s favorite works of art.

But then, that _could_ have been considered a torture.

When Pellaeon had seen the innocence in the wide-eyed look, he winced internally and ventured to the gundark’s lair, asking General Bittenfeld to keep an eye on him; none of the Navy men would ever _dare_ to bully the country bumpkin but one could never be so sure with the Stormtroopers. One did not join the Stormtrooper Corps if there was an ounce of brain in them.

To much of his surprise, the General only roared in laughter and told him not to worry for he had already ‘told the bucket-heads to leave the little lost bantha cub alone.’ It left Pellaeon speechless; he truly prayed the General had not phrased it _that_ way in front of the whole Stormtrooper Corps. Then again, this was General Bittenfeld he was talking about...

“Unfortunately, I must share Colonel Covell’s assessment of both Commander Riza’s and _Relentless_ ’s Army contingent’s marksmanship abilities.” Thrawn continued, breaking his line of thoughts.  “Had she lived up to her new appellation I would have recommended her to General Bittenfeld for a possible career path change. No, her place is on the bridge.”

Thrawn seemed lost in his own musings for a while.

“Perhaps I should have a word with the General about paying them a surprise inspection or temporarily transferring his flag to the _Relentless_ to help Dorja weed out the incompetents. While I made significant changes in the chain of command I have avoided meddling with the Army contingent’s internal affairs.”

“Sir, I am not sure Captain Dorja can handle General Bittenfeld,” Pellaeon countered, remembering their earlier encounter; had the Chiss decided not to come down to the Officer’s Lounge, the General would have reduced the freshly minted captain into a laughing stock in front of the whole Seventh Fleet.

“Don’t worry, Captain. The General and I have an understanding. Captain Dorja has nothing to fear from him.” Thrawn let out a small sigh. “My only regret is that I could not have allowed the General to take part in today’s events in any manner as it would greatly undermine my efforts.”

A smirk crossed the alien features for a fraction of a second.

Unleashing Bittenfeld on the Imperial Court? Now _that_ would have been something. Unfortunately the Imperial Palace itself might have not withstood such a force of nature that was the General. Bittenfeld had once given his opinion of the Imperial Court devouring each other in their insidious schemes: _“When a devil gets caught by a monster, I, as a human being, can only hope that they both die.”_

Pellaeon had held his breath that time, wondering whether the Grand Admiral would finally snap and lose his patience with the General. Thrawn only lazily turned his head in Bittenfeld’s direction, his face as calm as ever, his eyes staring into a faraway distance, and casually told him that his diplomatic skills left much to be desired, and he was to be permanently banned from attending all official events held at the Imperial Center, taking the full responsibility for the General’s absence.

“And perhaps I should have a word with Captain Dorja about introducing me to the unwritten rules of Coruscanti etiquette,” Thrawn went on with his monologue. “He is operating under a common misconception: I have no qualms about accepting a useful idea merely because it wasn't my own.”

The politics of the Imperial Court was a very different kind of a battlefield than the Grand Admiral had been used to. Thrawn, however, was a true warrior, and he was a fast learner, _much_ faster than he let anyone else know. At the moment, Thrawn was doing a simple vanguard, a reconnaissance, a mere rehearsal of his grand schemes, whatever they might have been.

Still, Pellaeon couldn’t understand how the Grand Admiral could have allied himself with Moff Pryce of all the people. Despite everything she did, despite Batonn, despite Atollon. She might have played a major role in securing the monetary funding for the TIE Defender Factory on Lothal but still…

“Captain, it is _I_   who would have been deeply concerned had you approved of my business relations with Governor Pryce,” the Grand Admiral said in an amused tone, answering Pellaeon’s unspoken concerns.

Pellaeon cleared his throat.

Thrawn’s uncanny ability to follow people’s train of thoughts most of the time, to follow _his_ train of thoughts in particular, was rather disturbing. Especially since Thrawn always seemed so blissfully ignorant of all the matters concerning him, of the words spoken about him, of the glances pointed at his direction. None of the dignitaries at the Grand Reception realized Thrawn had been studying them the whole time.

“Governor Pryce is motivated by malice, greed, and hunger for power. She is under the impression she can use my intellect for her own political schemes, hoping perhaps one day it could earn her the rank of Grand Moff. There is a distinct possibility she will succeed. As she is neither actively plotting against me nor are her ambitions are in conflict with my own interests, it is an alliance mutually beneficial to both.”

The Chiss fell silent for a few seconds, giving Pellaeon a contemplative glance, his expression as guarded as he had ever seen, then adding: “However, one must not mistake an alliance for acceptance.”

He knew the Grand Admiral couldn’t have missed the sharp intake of breath from his direction, still the Chiss continued, “A warrior must choose their battles wisely, Captain, the supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.”

Pellaeon stood there, transfixed to his place, his brain slowly processing the words being said. He was a mere captain, it was all he ever wanted to be in his life. He never strove to be anything more, to become a member of the Admiralty or to get involved in the political schemes of the Imperial Court. The Grand Admiral must have been completely wasting all his time spent on teaching him the art of war for there was no way in the Nine Hells Pellaeon would ever make it past a captain.

“Now if you will excuse me, Captain, I have a private audience with the Emperor in fifteen minutes. There are certain matters of importance that need to be discussed with His Majesty.” Without an acknowledgment, the Chiss walked past him, calling after him in his usual smooth, cultured voice.

“Enjoy the rest of the evening, Captain.”

 

**THE END  
**


	2. Imperial Center Never Sleeps (1/2)

It must have been a fairly normal diner, Dorja supposed, but to him it seemed like the most disreputable establishment he had ever visited: the furniture looked like it has seen the better days, the service droids were made from mismatched parts, the owner was an overweight alien, and the guests in the booths consisted of a mix of humans and aliens.

They left their uniform jackets and their hats in a nearby locker because otherwise they would have stuck out like a pair of Stormtroopers in the crowd; without the jackets they simply looked like off-duty low ranks who decided to hit the lower levels. They were calling each other by last names, because ranks would have been out of place here, and first names would have been awkward.

They ordered a soft drink, waiting for the rest of the gang, who even after an hour, to much of Riza’s surprise, never came. Of course they never came, damn them, the ground pounder lead them straight into a trap and they both fell for it, making Dorja feel like the biggest idiot in the universe.

He suggested they have a dinner without them, Riza recommending a kind of a flatbread with vegetable topping they were supposed to be eating with their bare hands, and the only reason why Dorja agreed to that was because it made Riza laugh, the sweet joyful sound he enjoyed so much.

He let her talk, mostly about her life, her family, her dead clone trooper husband who got discharged after suffering a war wound and raised the kids while she had to remain in active service to secure the family and pay for the gene therapy for her children. He let her talk her heart out about how much it pained to see her children grow up faster than normal humans, that she could see them in person only between the deep space deployments, that she spent all of her leisure time talking over the holonet with them, that they were now late teenagers who preferred spending their free time in different activities than talking to their mother.

He let her talk, because honestly he didn’t know what to tell her. He never had a family of his own, all he ever did was chasing the palace courtesans, and the only relationships he ever had were on-and-off girlfriends who never lasted more than one or two deployments. He kept watching her the whole time while she was talking, her eyes lowered, her hands playing with her wedding band, and he suppressed a sting of jealousy because he knew she would never take it off.

Dorja was just a man, and like all men he felt jealousy toward all other men who looked more than twice at any of the women he was interested in, even though he certainly found himself looking at other women. He couldn’t help it, but he came to accept that there was no way he could ever erase or replace the other man in her life.

And he could never buy her affections, either, a blow to his pride as a Coruscanti noble, for all his life he was led to believe he could simply buy whatever he wanted.

If he as much as offered to pay for her drink today, she would throw it right in his face, Riza was that kind of a person. They couldn’t have been more different, really, but then, opposites attracted.

It would have been so much easier to blame it all on the alcohol but then he was sober. All they drank was tea with milk in the Imperial Palace and the ridiculously sweet soft drink in this third-rate establishment.

The difference between an error and a mistake was an elementary knowledge for everyone in the Seventh Fleet, so elementary even Dorja could clearly see that this was a foolish mistake. If the Grand Admiral ever found out, at best he would have them both transferred each to a different ship.

Yet when she finally raised her dark brown eyes to meet his, waiting for whatever he had to say to her life story, Dorja couldn’t think of anything other than leaning over and kissing her softly on the lips.

He didn’t know what to expect, really. Maybe a slap? A punch in the face? A kick under the table? Being told _‘You just made a complete idiot out of yourself, sir,’_ she had told him at least a hundred times already?

Whatever higher power in the universe help them because Riza did the most incredible thing: she let out a soft sigh and kissed him back.

 

**TO BE CONTINUED**

 


	3. Imperial Center Never Sleeps (2/2)

Dorja rolled over in his bed and slowly opened his eyes, taking a moment to appreciate the naked woman laying next to him, covered only by the sheet. The first rays of Coruscant Prime were slowly peeking into the room yet she was still asleep, taking slow, regular breaths, and her hair was loose, disheveled, with several sand blonde locks covering a part of her face.

After the first awkward kiss at the diner, they exchanged a couple of more kisses, hungry, passionate ones, and when they finally snapped out of it they got up without a word and paid for the meal, separately, of course, she wouldn’t have it any other way, and then they walked over to the locker, took their stuff and stood there for a few heartbeats, looking hesitantly at each other.

They were both adults, she had been a married woman, and he was certainly no stranger to women, they both knew what would follow had they decided to leave together, they both knew what was at stake for each of them. Still, they both nodded, and walked side by side, silently, wordlessly, close enough to touch but not touching, until they reached the station and boarded the maglev train up to the Galactic City.

The journey back took exactly forty minutes, forty long minutes during which they simply stood next to each other in silence, with either of them having enough time to reconsider and exit the train at the next level.

Neither of them changed their mind. They both agreed to it, each for completely different reasons; he had wanted it, she had needed it, it was as simple as that.

Once they found themselves back in the Senate District, he called the nearest cab and took them over to an apartment he kept for himself. He gave the driver a few extra credits to make sure the alien left them alone, no questions asked, and once again the ride was done in silence, each looking at the sky of skyscrapers out of the car viewport at opposite sides.

When they arrived at their destination, he lead them to the entrance, opening the door with a sweep of a security card, and only after the doors closed behind them, once they stepped into the privacy of the main escalator, they both looked down and gently squeezed each other’s hands.

And then they finally found themselves at the very doorstep to his apartment, him once again using the security card to unlock the door, and as soon as they entered hand in hand, the door automatically locking behind them, they started kissing and undressing each other while walking toward the direction of the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes behind them.

They didn’t breathe out a word for there was no need, she had already talked her heart out at the diner, and he as a man certainly wasn’t made to talk so he comforted her in the only way he could.

They fell onto the bed and continued in silence, loosing themselves in each other’s arms, arching under each other’s touch until they both had enough and lay down in exhaustion, curled at each other’s arms, falling dead asleep.

Dorja let out a small sigh and continued watching her sleeping figure, his mind playing out the possible scenarios, thinking whether she would change her mind, get either embarrassed or angry at him, yelling him down for taking an advantage of her, hastily putting on her uniform, storming out of the room, applying for a transfer, and disappearing from his life forever.

Or whether she would simply acknowledge she needed it as badly as he wanted it and decided to treat it as a one night stand, never mentioning it again, staying aboard the _Relentless_ as his first officer.

Still, he hoped neither would come to pass, that somehow they could find a way to make this work, fully aware of how foolish and whimsical his hope was.

He might have initiated it but the next step was purely up to her. After all he was her direct superior officer, he couldn’t possibly press her any further, it wouldn’t any different from abusing his authority and pulling his rank over her, something he has never done before (no matter what others might think of him, he has always had at least _some_ standards) and he certainly wouldn’t want to start abusing his authority now, not with her of all the people.

He let out another soft sigh and slowly got up, careful not to rouse her before she woke up naturally on her own. He picked up the trail of the clothes from the floor, separating her clothes from his own, and neatly folded her uniform on the bed so she could easily put it on if she decided to leave.

He hesitated, and then he took out one of his nightshirts and placed it on the bed next to the uniform in case she opted to stay.

He shook his head, putting on a clean set of simple civilian clothes that became somehow tight around his waist, it’s been some time since he wore the spare set of clothes he kept around in this apartment. He went over to the kitchen and made them two cups of caf, the only thing he kept around because everything else would just spoil.

Who was he kidding, really?

He stood there for a few seconds, looking at his reflection in the black liquid, debating whether to return to the bedroom with the caf or not, then he decided against it and placed them at the kitchen table knowing she would be able to find them.

Defensive command style? Has anyone actually ever fell for that?

Deep down, he was a coward, nothing else. He didn’t dare to go back to the bedroom for the fear she could have gotten up already. The sun has risen high enough and it would illuminate the bedroom, causing her to wake up.

Instead he walked over to the hallway, put on his shoes and left the apartment to buy a breakfast for two. He would simply eat the rest for lunch.

* * *

When he returned with the groceries, he noticed her boots by the entrance were missing, only one cup remained at the kitchen table, the bedroom was empty, and her uniform on the bed was gone. He let out the breath he was holding, feeling a pang of sorrow at her decision but he forced himself to respect her choice.

He stood there, blankly staring at the empty bed, and only then he finally raised his eyes and looked at the balcony; there she stood, watching the morning Coruscanti traffic, dressed only in his nightshirt, wearing her Navy issue-leather boots because the gray concrete was too cold to step on barefoot in the early morning.

“Enjoying the view?” He called after her in his best noncommittal voice, suppressing the grin that threatened to spread all over his face, forcing himself to keep up the sabbac face, refusing to allow himself look like a moron.

“You are an idiot, you know that?” She snapped and turned towards him with the cup of caf in hand, an expression of annoyance crossing her features, the frown giving depth to the soft wrinkles around her eyes, the blond hair loose in the wind.

He cleared his throat. “So you said at least one hundred times already,” he reminded her gently and came to stand at the entrance to the balcony, the glass doors automatically sliding open in front of him.

“I can’t believe you nerfed out,” she sighed deeply and gave him a long contemplative glance, her dark brown eyes boring into his, and he finally allowed himself the grin he couldn’t suppress any longer.

How could have ever expected anything else from her?

“I prefer to call it a tactical retreat,” He said nonchalantly as if they were discussing a battle strategy during a tactical briefing, something they have done enough times already it came as a second nature to them, “and in any case I brought us breakfast.”

“And I put our clothes in the laundry and turned on the washing machine,” she threw back, looking far from impressed, not falling for the trick in the slightest. “Thanks for the caf, by the way.”

“You’re welcome.” He gave her a small shrug and then he finally dared to say what was on his tongue all along: “Thanks for staying.”

“I should have slapped you,” she barked out sharply, her eyes narrowing, her posture intimidating, definitely looking as if she meant what she had said.

Well...

“I might enjoy that,” Dorja admitted sheepishly, feeling the warmth coming to his cheeks, which resulted in a snort from her, the frown and the annoyance disappearing from her features, replaced by a soft smile on her lips.

He came to stand next to her, putting the coffee mug on the railing, pulling her into a tight embrace, burying his face into her hair, inhaling the scent of her body.

“You should have been made the Captain, Karin, not I,” he confessed, using her first name, the first time he has ever done that for it would have been hardly proper for him to address her by the first name under normal circumstances.

“You give yourself too little credit, Rhys,” she reassured him in a low tone of voice and returned the embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist. “You just need to be reminded once in a while when you’re behaving like an idiot. That’s all.”

What would he do without her, really?

“Let’s have the breakfast, then, Commander,” he breathed out and drew back, looking into the deep brown eyes, inclining his head a little to give her a soft kiss on the lips.

“Sir, yes, sir,” she replied teasingly and returned the kiss with a one of her own.

 

**THE END**

 

Author's Note: 

Believe it or not, Captain Dorja's first name has never been officially mentioned, therefore I had to come up with my own. Thanks for all your suggestions, in the end I decided on Rhys. 

 


	4. Assumption is the First Step into a Shallow Grave

 

It would have been a fairly normal breakfast like the one they used to have aboard the Officer’s Lounge at _Relentless_ from time to time if it hadn’t been for the tiny little detail that they were at his apartment at Coruscant, and that Karin Riza wasn’t wearing anything but one of his loosely buttoned up nightshirts, revealing more than the designers intended. Not that he minded, of course, on the contrary, he was rather enjoying the view.

 _I could definitely get used to this_ , Rhys Dorja thought as they ate the breakfast in a comfortable silence, watching the Morning HoloNet News in the background. It was said that Imperial Center never slept but at this very moment it seemed the ecumenopolis was yet about to wake up from the biggest mandatory party of the year.

There would a few more special events and military parades later this week but today there would be none for the very simple reason that it would not be good for the public image if the mightiest warriors of the Galactic Empire showed up in no condition to march.

Except maybe for the one who never, _ever_ appeared anything but immaculate.

“Not much of a party goer, is he?” Dorja mused aloud as he browsed through the new messages in his official Fleet account on his datapad, looking at the date and the time of the priority one message in his inbox. Today, 03:17 Central Coruscant Time.

“Does he even sleep?”

“Hmm?” Karin raised her eyes from the cup of tea she was drinking, taking a deep sip before replying. “What is it?”

Wordlessly, Dorja handed her over his datapad and watched as she leaned forward for the device, this time definitely revealing more than the designers intended. Oh, he could really get used to this.

* * *

From: thrawn@high-command.empire

To: rhys.dorja@isd-relentless.navy

Subject: Imperial Court Etiquette

Original Message:

Captain Dorja,

It came to my attention you are willing to disclose valuable information on Imperial Court etiquette.

If you are available, meet me at time and place of your convenience while we are both stationed at Imperial Center during the Festivities.

Thrawn

Grand Admiral

Imperial High Command

Affiliation: The Seventh Fleet

Flagship: Imperial Star Destroyer _Chimaera_

This message (including any attachments) may contain confidential, proprietary, privileged and/or private information. The information is intended to be for the use of the individual or entity designated above. If you are not the intended recipient of this message, please notify the sender immediately, and delete the message and any attachments. Any disclosure, reproduction, distribution or other use of this message or any attachments by an individual or entity other than the intended recipient is prohibited under Imperial law.

* * *

 “Should we notify the sender immediately since I am not intended recipient of this message?” Karin let out a soft chuckle, a corner of her mouth quirked up. “The automated signature and the confidentiality notice gives the message a nice personal touch.”

“Very funny, Commander,” Dorja reprimanded her and used his fingers to massage the bridge of his nose. “Karin, you’ve known Thrawn much longer than I do, I’m afraid it’s going to be a disaster… I can’t believe the gossip girl told him right away.”

Karin stiffed a laugh, putting an unruly curl of her blond hair behind the ear. “This sounds more like Captain Pellaeon’s doing. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time the Captain brought a delicate topic to the Admiral’s attentions.”

“Right away?” Dorja groaned. “Pellaeon is as bad as Covell then, no wonder the two of them always hang around.”

Karin shook her head. “There is no use dancing around the Admiral, Rhys, if he as much as suspects there is anything worthy of his attention, he won’t stop until you’ve satisfied his curiosity, and it’s entirely up to you whether the conversation’s gonna be pleasant or not. In either way, he won’t stop until he gets what he wants. It’s not like Captain Pellaeon had any choice on the matter.”

“I know,” Dorja admitted, rubbing his temples with his fingers, “it’s phrased like a request, a very polite request, but it’s still an order from a member of the High Command. Only the ‘or else’ is missing…”

“I can’t recall him saying ‘or else’ on _Chimaera_ actually,” she seemed lost in thoughts, trying hard to remember, “I don’t think there’s been anyone dumb enough to go against his wishes or do something he wouldn't have sanctioned behind his back.”

She shrugged and finally gave up, putting her cup back at the low table. “I’d give anything to be the mynock on the hull if it ever came to it, though, the Admiral might find them so amusing he would let them actually walk away with it.”

Dorja let out a snicker. “As if Thrawn could _ever_ find anything amusing. The alien has no sense of humor.”

“True, if he didn’t find your attempts to prove yourself to him amusing, then he truly has no sense of humor.”

She shamelessly drew up her legs, sitting up into a cross-legged position. She was doing this to him on purpose.

“Now you’re just being mean...” Dorja whimpered, his eyes transfixed at the exposed skin. He was trying to come up with an idea how to solve the situation, and she wasn’t helping at all.

“Rhys, I’ve tried a subtle approach but it got me nowhere so here you go: You’re trying too hard. You won’t get anywhere with that sort of behavior.” 

She crossed her arms over her torso, under her breasts, not over.

Dorja blinked, forcing himself to look back up to her brown eyes. “You call telling me: _‘You just made a complete idiot out of yourself, sir,’_ a subtle approach?” 

“You need someone who spells things for you,” she countered. “And I said so in private. I’d have never undermined your authority by saying so in front of the crew.”

“You’re really something, you know that?”

“Rhys, taking highlighted notes during the obligatory Significance of Art on Warfare lectures, like seriously? While all of us doped ourselves up with double strength caf to not to fall asleep, with Captain Pellaeon making it triple?”

“At least I was the only one paying attention and asking questions.” Dorja felt the warmth coming up to his cheeks from embarrassment.

“And did you get anything from it?” Karin raised an eyebrow.

“No.”

“Then stop trying and just be yourself,” Karin leaned forward, looking him straight in the eyes, her previous attempts at teasing all gone.

“If there is anything he’s doing wrong, just tell him, he’ll master it in no time being the perfectionist he is in everything else,” she said in a supportive tone, reverting back into his anchor. If he had been a TIE Fighter pilot he’d have called her his wingman.

“I don’t think you offended him, on the contrary, you piqued his interest and he won’t stop until you’ve satisfied his curiosity. So just save yourself the trouble and don’t make him repeat himself or force him to make it an order. You wouldn’t enjoy it, his enemies certainly don’t. If it makes you that awkward, I can go with you and play the dummy. I’m a mere Rim Worlder after all, we both know that my knowledge of Coruscanti etiquette amounts to nil. I don’t even have to pretend to ask stupid questions.”

“Karin, that’s...” Dorja let out a sigh. While it was true that she behaved like a typical Rim Worlder, he couldn’t think any less of her. She was his first officer, his aide, and his adviser all in one, she had his back, and he trusted her with his life.

“You don’t have to do this. In any case we wouldn’t want create the wrong image by appearing together after …” he coughed discreetly, “well, you know, it might make him suspicious. We are _so_ screwed if Thrawn ever finds out.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t worry about that...” She said with an utter conviction in her voice he never heard from her before, waving her hand dismissively.

“What do you mean?” Dorja asked with caution.

“Well…” Her hand stopped in midair, a guarded look crossing her features, as if she realized she revealed far more than she had intended. “The Admiral would have my hide if he knew I figured it out but … relationships are _so_ not his thing.”

“Huh?” Dorja blurted out, feeling slightly lost. “You mean human relationships?”

“I mean relationships in general,” she said, dead pan, “he’s a grand admiral when it comes to war but when it comes to these things he’s an ensign.”

“Karin,” Dorja exclaimed in horror, almost jumping from his seat in shock, “Thrawn’s a member of the High Command. If he ever heard you talking like this, he’d make you wish you were dead…”

She leaned back in the armchair and bit her lower lip, coming into a decision. “I’ll tell you how we met each other if you promise to never breathe the word about it.”

Dorja gave her a small nod, whatever she was about to say would never go any further. “The story goes Thrawn’s seen you cleaning the hallways of the Imperial Palace as a punishment and got so impressed with your floor scrubbing skills to have you transferred to his ship where you worked yourself up from the cleaning lady.”

A corner of her lips twitched in a smirk. “Sure, that’s how it happened, however there is more to that story, something that could never seen the light of the day because no man, human or alien, could possibly let it slide if anyone ever found out.”

“Karin!” Dorja’s eyes widened in shock, feeling his body go all numb. “What are you--?”

Karin rolled her yes. “No, it’s far more innocent than that. I was scrubbing one of the main corridors when I noticed an alien carelessly marching through the hallway, blindly staring at his datapad... I’d been so angry at the universe that I couldn’t think of anything else than yelling ‘Wet floor! Can’t you read the sign?!’ after him, which made the said alien startle and fall flat down at the floor. I’ll give you a hint, the alien had pale blue skin and red glowing eyes.”

“By the Emperor,” Dorja murmured, cupping his face in his hands.

“Oh, it gets better and better. I ran to him with the datapad he had dropped, saw his eyes linger over the wedding band and then immediately proceed with what I had thought to be an innuendo at that time.” 

“No _kriffing_ way!” Dorja shouted out in horror. She was usually calm and docile but there was that one topic that would bring her fierce personality to the surface, the one that resulted in her scrubbing the floor of the Imperial Palace as a punishment in the first place.

“What did he say? What in the Vader’s name did you do?”

“He said, and I quote: ‘Would you be willing to clean my Star Destroyer, Lieutenant?’ in the exact same tone I am using now. So I went and threw a bucket on him, splashing its contents on his head.”

Dorja blinked, rendered speechless for a few heartbeats, and then finally he roared in laughter, almost doubling over. “What the… I can’t even! You’re serious?! How’s that… It has to be one of his deepest darkest secrets.” 

“And then he said: ‘You will have to work on your attitude, Lieutenant, and I will have to work on my Basic proficiency. I know I am still wearing my old rank plates but I have just received new orders, Lieutenant, I truly am to be a Captain of a Star Destroyer.’”

Dorja cackled madly. “He must have hit his head really hard,” he took a deep breath to regain composure. “I can’t believe he didn’t have you court-martialed.”

It might have sounded hilarious, but at the same time it must have been a tremendous blow to one’s ego, alien or not, Thrawn was still a man.

Karin stroke her chin in thoughts. “I still wonder about that sometimes… Instead he offered me a job. He really meant it when he said he wanted me to clean his Star Destroyer.”

And even though Dorja’s brain couldn’t comprehend it, the alien not only spared her of court-martial, he had her transferred to his own ship. And once he reached the rank of an admiral, having the power to countermand the orders, he allowed her to climb the ranks once more, while other members of the Admiralty would have had her transferred to the most remote edge of the Galaxy.

“Don’t worry, I won’t breathe a word to a living soul about this,” Dorja said and he meant every word. “Still, that just means he is not into women,” he put an emphasis on the last word, giving her a subtle hint.

“You think he’s gay?”

Dorja cleared his throat. “Well, a few years ago there was an incident at Brestan at the banquet thrown in Captain Thrawn’s honor after he came to Captain Konstantine’s rescue, disbanding the local pirate network. The Duchess was fawning all over him all evening, trying to get his attention by pointing him at rather explicit sculptures, and all Thrawn was interested was the clay composition. In the end she gave up and it was Captain Konstantine who ended up consoling her that night.”

Dorja chuckled at the memory.

“Konstantine wrote him off as gay since then. You don’t even want to know what kind of crude jokes Konstantine came up once Thrawn started ordering him around as a grand admiral. It involves Thrawn taking orders from Vader, Tarkin, and of course, the Emperor.”

“Konstantine was making dirty jokes about Thrawn and Vader? Thrawn and Tarkin? Thrawn and the Emperor? The man really had IQ of a retarded bantha.” Karin shook her head in utter disbelief. “In any case, I don’t think he’s gay either. You brought it with the clay sculpture, there was a time when Captain Pellaeon picked up Zeltros as the annual shore leave destination...”

“ _Zeltros?_ You sleazy bastards have been to Zeltros?” Dorja said accusingly, only partially joking. “Pellaeon is way sneakier than he looks, I’ll give him that, given Thrawn’s unintentional innuendo he must have had absolutely no idea what they say about Zeltron.”

Zeltros was like a red-light district on a planetary scale; Zeltron culture was highly influenced by sexuality and the pursuit of pleasure in general. Zeltron, a red-skinned, near-human race, produced potent pheromones that made all humanoids in the galaxy go crazy with need, and they also possessed a limited empathic ability, being able to project their emotions over other races. For that very reason, even the most fanatical followers of the New Orders frequented a certain Zeltron establishment at Galactic City catering to the most influential clientele.

What a son of a Hutt Pellaeon was, tricking the completely oblivious alien into a shore leave at Zeltros.

“I have no idea how the Captain pulled it off but I don’t need to say the crew was ecstatic, how they even managed to keep professional long enough not to burst out in cheers is beyond me,” Karin let out a chuckle, “Captain Pellaeon wouldn’t tolerate commotion on the bridge, you know, if there was anyone as much as shouting in general direction he’ll yell them down like a drill sergeant. The Admiral is not the only one who can give a death glare.”

“Hmmm, I can believe that,” Dorja conceded, remembering the time he stepped right into the Krayt dragon’s den, the _Chimaera_ ’s Officer’s Lounge, and Pellaeon’s cough was enough to make them all leave him alone,

“So, uh, how the did Thrawn spent his shore leave on Zeltros?”

“You won’t believe it but I swear it’s true,” she stated with all seriousness. “He visited the Zeltron Woodblock Print Museum, spending a couple of hours appreciating their works of art, and then he went back, relieved the skeleton crew and let the ship sail completely on autopilot, remaining as the only one aboard the bridge in case of an emergency.”

Dorja snorted, rolling his eyes at her naivety. “Visiting a museum? Appreciating their works of art? Is it what they call it these days? You’re damn right I don’t believe that.”

Karin shook her head frantically. “I swear it’s true. The crew doesn’t believe it either but I happen to have the information straight from the source.”

“The gossip girl, you mean?” Dorja said dryly, giving her a dirty look.

“You know, Freja might snap if you keep calling him that,” she let out a small giggle, her face softening up, “and trust me, you don’t want a disciple of General Bittenfeld go berserk on you.”

“Yeah, he already went berserk on me once. Before he became one of Bittenfeld's disciples.” Dorja cringed. “Who would have thought a quartermaster would be practicing Wookiee martial arts as his hobby. I spent two full weeks licking my wounds.”

Karin let out an evil cackle, openly laughing at this stupidity, “I’d love to know what you laserbrains said it could make Captain Pellaeon throw the first punch and make Freja go all Wookiee berserk on you, and no matter how kindly I ask, they both keep silent as the grave.”

Dorja cleared this throat. “You may call it Core Worlders’ code of honor if you wish. They may be broke but they are still Core World gentlemen, in any case it’s one of the things that happened and it’s best left like that.”

A sudden realization came to him.

“How come you have this level of information, anyway? And how come you’re on the first name basis with the gossip girl? You two have a history or something?”

“Rhys, please...” Karin gave him an exasperated look. “How do you think we met in the first place? Who do you think was in charge of the sanitation duty when he ended up cleaning refreshers as punishment?”

“I can’t believe they got away this easily!” Dorja cried out, clenching his fists in anger, gritting his teeth. “So you became best buddies cleaning the refreshers together or what?”

“Something like that,” she said cautiously, dodging his question.

“Oh, come on, Karin, there is much more to the story,” Dorja snorted, feeling a little hurt she would talk about Thrawn’s back but not behind Covell’s back.

“And he’d kill me if ever told _you_ of all the people about it,” she insisted, her face clearly telling him to back off.

Dorja sighed. Did she think so little of him?

“You’ve trusted me with one of Thrawn’s deepest darkest secrets, you can trust me with Covell’s. I promise I won’t ever bring it up.”

She looked pensive but then she nodded. “Well, you’re pretty much guessed it right, we bonded over cleaning the refreshers, exchanging our shitty life stories with each other. His fiancee run away with his best friend, Rhys, and when she came back to him, he decided to give her a second chance.”

He almost did a double take. “I hope you told him he’s a kriffing idiot,...”

A corner of her lips twitched. “I didn’t have to, actually, he said so himself while cleaning the blocked refresher: _‘I’ve never had a problem with second chances, I tend to give about seven or eight before I realize I'm a kriffing idiot,’_ so I didn’t felt the need to rub the salt into the wounds. Cleaning shit really brings people together, Rhys, you should try it sometimes.”

Dorja scoffed. “You really _are_ a kriffing Rim Worlder, Karin, I can’t imagine a Coruscanti noblewoman talking like this. I can’t believe I kissed such a filthy mouth.”

Scandalous!

“In any case, that’s the whole story,” Karin concluded, her eyes gleaming with open amusement. “We keep calling each other by first names since then, and as for the rumor mill, he’s shared some things with me but he would never disclose privileged information. He’s very discreet when it comes to handling sensitive stuff, that’s why the Admiral usually has him carry out the mission on the ground.”

“So he ended up following Thrawn to the museum as his bodyguard?” Dorja’s eyebrow shot up. The army ground pounder picked up the unlucky draw? “That’s it?”

“Actually, no, General Bittenfeld ended up playing the bodyguard, down to the Deathtrooper armor with garbled speech.” Karin stiffed a laugh, her features beaming. “I think the Admiral finally decided to punish him for falling asleep during the Art on War lectures, torturing him by having him listen to his commentary over the works of art. Ever heard of the Zeltron Woodblock Print?”

“No,” Dorja said with his best fake innocent voice, trying to sound as offhandedly as possible. He might not have had received the invitation to the Zeltron establishment catering to the most influential but Admiral Konstantine did, and the damn bastard sure as hell boasted about it to his senior command staff, enjoying making them go green with envy by showing them a few rather explicit artistic depictions of Zeltron women.

There must have been something seriously wrong with Thrawn.

“Well, apparently there is a reason why it can be found only on Zeltros,” Riza gave him a smirk, the same she sometimes gave him discussing a battle strategy, “I was told it’d make even the most seasoned COMPNOR censor blush. And according to Bittenfeld the Admiral kept commenting on the skills of the woodcarvers, the depth of the colors, and the insight it gave him into the minds of Zeltron. Oh, and he was in a company of two Zeltron all the time, a female and a male, exchanging his observations with them.”

“You’re right. Thrawn really _is_ an ensign when it comes to these things.” Dorja breathed out in utter disbelief, stroking his chin lost in thoughts. They could totally pull this off as long as they behaved nothing out of ordinary in front of Thrawn.

“So you see, I’m pretty sure we are off the hook.” Karin finished her tale, giving him a conspiratorial wink. “He wouldn’t notice a thing even if I wore a dress.”

 

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	5. When on Coruscant, Do as Coruscanti Do

**Title: When on Coruscant, Do as Coruscanti Do**

* * *

 They met the Grand Admiral at the entrance to Club Zenon, a private club located at one of the highest levels of the Galactic City. It seemed that Karin wasn’t the only one who realized the lesson on Imperial Court etiquette might get awkward as the Grand Admiral didn’t come alone. He was in a company of a young man wearing a lieutenant’s rank plates.

Dorja threw a curious glance at Karin who gave him a small shrug in return; whoever he was, the young man must have been transferred to Thrawn’s flagship after she was reassigned to the _Relentless_ , otherwise she would have recognized him from her time aboard the _Chimaera_.

“Captain Dorja, Commander Riza,” the Grand Admiral said in his usual smooth voice, giving them a curt nod in acknowledgment, a clear sign the usual formalities weren’t necessary, “please meet my aide-de-camp, Lieutenant Vanto. He became my personal assistant shortly after the battle of Atollon.”

The Lieutenant, on the other hand, gave them both a sharp salute, for there was a significant difference in ranks between them, though much lower than between any of them and the Grand Admiral.

“A pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant Vanto,” Riza gave the young man a long measuring glance, evaluating him.

Karin had transformed into her usual public Commander Riza persona as soon as the Grand Admiral and his aide came within sight. She couldn’t have possibly come to the meeting wearing a dress, of course, for while the alien might not have found it suspicious, others might.

“I have never heard of the Admiral employing an aide before,” Riza said, her expression softening. “You must have made quite an impression then, Lieutenant.”

According to Riza, Thrawn had the habit of pointing out everyone’s mistakes, including her own, rarely praising anyone, if ever, and therefore, logically, someone else had to substitute for the role. Riza had played the part briefly as the executive officer because while Pellaeon was certainly approachable to the crew, the supportive, fatherly role had always belonged to then-Captain Parck.

Dorja raised an eyebrow at the young man. Why Thrawn never before employed a personal assistant? Admiral Konstantine had employed a dozen, and he had complained all the time that even twelve assistants were not enough for an admiral. How could a grand admiral function without one?

The young man stood up a little straighter at the praise, instantly falling for the calm, supportive persona Karin donned in public. Dorja suppressed a smirk. If only the young man knew deep down Karin’s tongue was sharp as vibroblade, and that in private she behaved like the Rim Worlder she was. Lieutenant Vanto would have been _so_ shocked.

The Grand Admiral’s face hardened, a signal to cut the chit-chat and return to the task at hand. “Shall we go, Captain? It is indeed fortunate you managed to secure a reservation at such short notice. Not an easy task I presume.”

_Thrawn has never heard of the place, obviously, though I’d never been able to tell had he not admitted to it openly. It was not a mere slip of tongue._

“It is a very popular place among Core Worlders of noble birth, sir,” Dorja said awkwardly, rubbing his fingers against each other nervously, “an ideal place to meet someone of an influence. If you ever happen to be in a need of a reservation, you may mention the Dorja family name, sir. That should open the doors for you.”

There must have been billions of restaurant on Coruscant, with millions catering to the rich and the famous, however, this was one of the places where the influential met each other when they meant business. Located high enough to be fashionable but not too high to be under unwelcome scrutiny of the public eye because none of the people who _really_ mattered came here to have their holos taken by the HoloNet News reporters.

Dorja bit his lower lip, watching the expression on Lieutenant Vanto’s face; he clearly never heard of the establishment either but unlike the Grand Admiral the confusion showed plainly on the young man’s features, instantly branding him as a person of no significance.

Once they entered the establishment they were immediately tended to by a steward droid that led them through the main lounge. Dorja gave the others a proper Coruscanti nobleman’s bow in greeting, with Thrawn immediately following the suit, mimicking it down to the smallest detail—if Dorja didn’t know the alien would have even him fooled—and while Riza and Vanto caught up fast and tried their very best, they both failed miserably, resulting in a snicker from a Kuati lady in an ornate dress who stood close to the entrance.

The Lieutenant must have been a Rim Worlder as well, and from the way his face hardened he didn’t like to be a source of amusement of Core World snobs. Commander Riza had a different sore spot, and in any case her little trip to the shooting range taught all _Relentless’s_ Admiral Konstantine’s former staff that the ‘countrywoman’ was to be taken seriously.

Dorja leaned closer to the young man and whispered into his ear: “As far the Core World hierarchy goes, Lieutenant, only the influential houses are allowed to sit in the armchairs. A chair with a back but no arms is reserved for houses of good standing but little influence, and the tabouret, a padded stool is awarded to wealthy entrepreneurs who succeeded in the Core Worlds. Other people would be expected to stand.”

Dorja gave him a conspiratorial wink. “She,” he indicated the snickering Kuati, “is just rich.”

“Interesting,” Thrawn said in a low tone of voice, the red glowing eyes going over all sitting members. “How does the affiliation with the military fit into the social hierarchy?”

“Were we to engage in a discussion with the other members, sir, you, a member of the High Command, would be allowed to sit on the armchair. Members of the Admiralty would sit on the chair with a back but no arms, other senior officers would sit on the tabouret, and junior officers would be naturally expected to stand. While the rank itself takes precedence, as you can imagine, officers of lower rank but higher social standing would be naturally scornful toward the officers of higher rank but lower social standing.”

“Krayt spit,” muttered Riza and Vanto at the same time, looking none too impressed at the rigid societal ladder of the Core Worlds.

“Language, Commander Riza,” Dorja admonished her sharply, his eyes widening at the backwater world expletive she had used in front of the Grand Admiral. Scandalous! He risked a quick glance Thrawn who looked as unreadable as ever, only a small spark reaching the glowing red eyes, an alien expression Dorja had never been able to interpret.

Lieutenant Vanto, meanwhile, looked as if he had found a like-minded ally among the flock of the Coruscanti hawkbats, giving Riza a lopsided grin. Dorja bit his tongue, the Grand Admiral must have felt very generous indeed to let it all slide.

_Country bumpkins!_

“Lieutenant Vanto, please, you are not aboard the _Chimaera_ ,” Thrawn stated calmly, paying no attention to the young man’s antics, instead shifting his gaze back at Dorja and the steward droid that was waiting to open the door for them into one of the private rooms.

When the door opened, Dorja tried hard to suppress a smirk upon seeing Vanto’s wide-eyed look and failed; the Lieutenant must have seen the skyline of the planet from the orbit during the landing, and while the ecumenopolis looked impressive even with Coruscant Prime high above, nothing could have prepared the young man for the breathtaking, awe-inspiring view of the night sky. With lights blazing from every skyscraper, every office block, and every vehicle, with the vague outline of the Manarai Mountains in the background, it appeared that Coruscant was constantly alive, working and living.

“Imperial Center never sleeps,” Dorja murmured under his breath and threw an amused glance at Riza who returned a one of her own. It was so obvious from the young man’s expression this was the first time Vanto set foot on the galactic capital. Where had the Grand Admiral dug him up?

“Before it became Imperial Center, it was called Coruscant because the nightview of the ecumenopolis had reminded people of _corusca_ jewels _,_ a rare type of a glittering gemstone,” Thrawn explained to Vanto, using the exactly same tone he used during the obligatory Significance of Art on War lectures.

Dorja let out a discreet cough. “While the Admiral is most certainly correct,” _if there is anything he’s doing wrong, just tell him, he’ll master it in no time being the perfectionist he is in everything else_ , “ _corusca_ gemstone is pronounced /kəˈɹʌskɑ/, not /'kɔɹəsɑ/, hence the old pronunciation /kəˈɹʌskənt/.”

Thrawn gave him a miniscule nod. “Thank you, Captain, for the clarification. It might explain why Governor Pryce tried using the old pronunciation to get into the InterGalactic Banking Clan favor during the Grand Reception. However, she had said /kɔ'ɹʌskənt/, not /kəˈɹʌskənt/ which might also explain why her attempt has proven unsuccessful.”

Dorja blinked. The alien had noticed such a subtle difference? “Ah, yes, /kɔ'ɹʌskənt/ doesn’t sound natural, sir.”

“Does it really matter?” Riza grunted. Meanwhile, Thrawn motioned all of them to sit down at the table.

“Well, I suppose it does if you’re trying to impress a Coruscanti,” Dorja speculated once he sat down, “she would have had more luck with the standard /'kɔɹəsɑnt/ pronunciation, that’s what even we Coruscanti use actually, /kəˈɹʌskənt/ sounds too archaic, though it might have worked had she spoken to someone old. I cannot really explain.”

“Lieutenant Vanto, then, if you will?”

The Lieutenant raised his eyebrows but otherwise appeared resigned to the notion of being suddenly pulled into a conversation.

“Captain Dorja can identify what is ‘wrong’ without really determining why because he’s been born and raised here on Coruscant among the elite. Governor Pryce hasn’t, she is a Rim Worlder. I don’t think she’d be able to master such subtle nuances in speech that come naturally to Captain Dorja without spending her whole life studying history of local accents.”

Dorja looked at the young man with a new pair of eyes, the Grand Admiral didn’t bring him to play the dummy, Lieutenant Vanto might have been a country bumpkin but Thrawn was coaching him, preparing him for a task he had envisioned for him. Dorja could tell because he had been in a similar position before when he had been given command of the _Relentless_.

Thrawn unleashed Commander Riza on him because he needed someone who would play a supportive role to the freshly minted captain who finally got his first command, and at the same time he needed someone who would put him back on track whenever he reversed back into his former self, yelling him down if necessary.

And Commander Riza played her role perfectly, a calm, serene force on the surface, acting as his anchor, executing all his orders on the bridge, a fierce warrior on the inside with a tongue sharp as a vibroblade ready to use it whenever the situation called for it. Only she found a new method to prevent his old way of thinking reaching his brain. A very effective, feminine way...

They were _so_ screwed if Thrawn ever found out about them. A small shudder escaped him.

“Any recommendations, Captain Dorja?” Thrawn interrupted his train of thoughts, Dorja’s heart beating faster at the sudden interruption. Riza and Vanto were studying the wine list, flipping through the pages back and forth, unable to choose. The alien gave the menu a single long glance as if he had made his choice.

“I would recommend Blossom Wine from Summit Farm Blossom Winery, sir,” Dorja suggested, suppressing a chuckle at the frown that appeared at Riza’s face when her gaze fell on the price. Looking at the price while choosing was considered a serious faux pas in this type of establishment.

 _Come on, Karin_. _It’s worth every credit._

“Blossom wine? Is that red wine or white wine?” Vanto wondered aloud, taking his eyes off the menu and looking him straight in the face, his expression sincere.

Dorja almost did a double take at that, rendered speechless for a second.

The Lieutenant has never heard of the blossom wine? By the Emperor, Riza might have been a Rim Worlder but Vanto must have come from the Wild Space.

“White wine,” Thrawn said calmly without reproach. “It is a rare, fragrant wine created on the planet Naboo by distilling natural essences of different flower blossoms.”

“Oh. How do you know, sir?” Vanto countered, looking at his superior officer with a genuine surprise.

Dorja watched the exchange with morbid fascination, his eyes flickering between Thrawn and Vanto. Apparently, the Lieutenant expected the Grand Admiral’s knowledge of best vintages in the universe be as horrible as his, possibly even worse.

Had they met under different circumstances, such as in the Imperial Academy for example, the country bumpkin and the alien would have made a wonderful comedy duo. And Dorja would definitely have been the bully, having so much fun at them standing out like a pair of Stormtroopers in the crowd.

“I have been required to drink it in the presence of the Emperor,” the alien said in dismissal, giving him a small shrug. “It appears to be his favorite vintage.”

“Required to drink, sir?” Dorja repeated dryly.

_Don’t tell me..._

“It would have been impolite to decline,” the alien said as if it was the most obvious thing in the universe. He truly didn’t care for the wine.

_It’s even worse than I thought…_

Dorja bit his lip from muttering aloud something highly inappropriate in the present company, trying his best to delete the mental image of Grand Admiral Thrawn being none-too-impressed with Emperor’s Palpatine favorite vintage, and he could feel a gentle kick under the table coming from Riza who was giving him one of her _‘You just made a complete idiot out of yourself, sir,’_ looks.

“A different type of wine, then, perhaps?” Dorja offered diplomatically.

“It is of no consequence, Captain Dorja. However, if you insist, then the emerald wine would be acceptable. Since this type of establishment does not serve the Lothal vintage, I suppose the Alderaanian vintage would suffice.”

Dorja’s heart skipped a beat. To all wine connoisseurs, Lothal emerald grapes tasted as sour as Hutt punch. Alderaanian vintage, on the other hand, had an exquisite sweet flavor. Thrawn couldn’t have possibly preferred the Lothal vintage over the Alderaanian one, could he?

“Alderaanian emerald wine it is, then.” Dorja said bitterly. “If I might be so bold sir, I would suggest not mentioning Lothal vintage in the Imperial Court.”

“Indeed?” One blue black eyebrow shot up.

“Indeed,” Dorja conceded. It might came out as an insubordination but he would gladly take any punishment the alien deemed necessary. There _was_ something seriously wrong with Thrawn.

And while Dorja thanked whatever higher power in the universe at least Lieutenant Vanto could appreciate a good wine when the steward droid arrived with the bottle, the way the country bumpkin was holding the wine glass was giving Dorja a massive headache. On the other hand, the alien could hold the glass properly, even if he couldn’t appreciate the taste.

“Perhaps it is simply a difference between Chiss and human sensory perception,” Vanto said cryptically, taking a deep sip from his glass.

“Perhaps,” Thrawn shrugged.

Dorja exchanged a quick glance with Riza, and then they both eyed the Lieutenant like two Drayberian hawks circling their prey, Alderaanian wine forgotten.

“Chiss?” Riza asked simply, putting her glass down on the table.

“I am sorry, Lieutenant, what did you just say?” Dorja asked politely.

“Chiss,” Thrawn repeated the world slowly in a pure clinical tone, his expression unreadable. “The proper name for my species.” 

“Oh.” Dorja breathed out.

Riza looked stunned. She had served under Thrawn, climbing her ranks back up to executive officer, yet clearly she has never heard the term aboard the _Chimaera_.

“How did you know?” Riza wondered when she finally snapped out of her shock. He would let her take initiative over here, while he was simply curious, Riza looked like her world has just turned upside down.

“I am originally from Lysatra, Ma’am,” Lieutenant Vanto explained, “It’s a world located on the edge of the Wild Space, close to the Unknown Regions. The Chiss, well, they have always been thought of as a Wild Space myth.”

There were several thoughts that immediately came to Dorja’s mind:

 _Wild Space_. Lieutenant Vanto literally came from a middle of nowhere.

 _Unknown Regions_. Grand Admiral Thrawn came from beyond nowhere.

 _Chiss_. Lieutenant Vanto could be the key to the mystery of Grand Admiral Thrawn.

“It seems there are legends of my people, Commander,” the Grand Admiral focused his attention at Riza, giving her one of the strange, alien expressions. “Curious.”

Vanto let out a small cough, his cheeks warming up in embarrassment. “Well, more like campfire stories, to tell the truth. It’s so silly, really. I’m afraid I haven’t made the best first impression, Commander.”

“Still, I would appreciate if you could share some of the stories with us, Lieutenant,” Riza encouraged the young man, a soft smile on her lips, and Dorja couldn’t shake off the feeling she was walking straight into a trap.

“According to the legends, Commander Riza, Captain Dorja, Chiss are able to read minds with their gaze and steal the souls of the individuals who are foolish enough to look them in the eyes.”

It was Thrawn who answered, giving them both a long, hard stare with the glowing red eyes, pulling them into the strange, hypnotizing gaze. Dorja felt his throat tighten, oh yes, he could definitely understand where this particular myth came from. At this moment, he could have sworn it was true. It was similar to the one Dorja was given when they had first met, when the Grand Admiral told him that if ever found out that his bigotry was affecting his performance, he would have his carcass ejected with the next garbage load.

“Even when false, legends can be most informative about the people who tell them,” Thrawn finished his tale, releasing them from the spell simply by lowering his eyes, focusing his attention on the wine. Oh yes, the little performance was certainly informative, no one screwed around with Grand Admiral Thrawn.

Dorja and Riza were so dead if they ever slipped and let their relationship affect their performance, causing the Chiss to find out about the affair. He’d ordered their carcasses ejected with the next garbage load.

Dorja took a deep breath and poured himself an another glass, and then he ordered one more bottle. He threw a brief glance at Karin. If it was anyone else, he would have nerfed out again, effectively ending it while there was still time, for he didn’t want to be the first person dumb enough to go against the Grand Admiral’s wishes. He truly doubted Thrawn would find them amusing enough to let them actually walk away with it.

The alien had no sense of humor.

As he watched Lieutenant Vanto hold the wine glass like the true country bumpkin he was, Dorja risked a glance at Thrawn. “If I may be so bold, sir, are you planning for your aide-de-camp to accompany you to any official functions?”

Dorja realized Thrawn didn’t need much help. The alien could mimic everything to the last detail, and when for some reason he couldn’t, he was able to improvise without giving himself away. Dorja could probably compile a list of unwritten rules for him, write down the things that came naturally to Coruscanti noblemen but made no sense to someone coming from an entirely different culture.

Lieutenant Vanto, on the other hand, was a completely different matter. They would have to start from a scratch if the Grand Admiral was planning for his aide-de-camp to represent him on an official level, no matter what kind of task the Chiss had envisioned for him.

“It is possible he might be required to take part in ceremonial or diplomatic functions,” Thrawn offered without elaborating further.

“Then if it is alright with you, sir, perhaps I could fill the gaps in his education. A couple of weeks aboard the _Relentless_ should be enough.”

Dorja suppressed a chuckle, exchanging an amused look with Riza at the expression ‘Why me?’ clearly written on the young man’s face. This would be a real challenge.

Thrawn seemed to consider the request for a moment until he finally inclined his head. “It could prove useful in the future. However, I am sending General Bittenfeld with him, Captain. It has come to my attention that the Army contingent is in a need of weeding out the incompetent.”

_Covell! I will strangle the gossip girl with my bare hands!_

Dorja gulped. Letting the gundark loose on his ship?! “With all due respect, sir,...”

“While I made significant changes in the chain of command I have avoided meddling with the Army contingent’s internal affairs,” Thrawn said in a tone that let no room for argument. “If they do not agree with General Bittenfeld’s methods, they are free to complain to the High Command, addressing their concerns directly to the Grand General.”

“Understood, sir.”

General Bittenfeld might have been a gundark, however, at least the Grand Admiral held the reins of the beast firmly in his hands. An inspection from an another member of the High Command was something better to be avoided at all costs.

Riza, meanwhile, decided to step in and disperse the tense atmosphere, changing the topic entirely. “I realize I am overstepping my place, sir, but I cannot help wondering, Admiral, considering Lieutenant Vanto more or less implied you come from the Unknown Regions, sir, what was the most difficult thing to master for someone who must have originated from a wholly different culture?”

Dorja stiffened, it was a bold question indeed, but then she had served aboard the _Chimaera_ , she must have seen how far Pellaeon could go speaking his mind aloud before the Grand Admiral disciplined him. Or at least he hoped so. It could have been the wine.

There was an indescribable shift in the red gaze and then the glowing eyes focused solely on her. “Language transfer.”

Dorja tried hard not to think anything at all; of course, this was what Riza was truly after, she was wondering how hard the alien had hit his head back then when they had first met. Perhaps Dorja should take the wine away from her, it must have been getting into her head, asking such highly inappropriate questions.

“Language transfer?” Dorja wondered. He never heard of the term before.

“Do you speak any other language than Galactic Basic, Captain Dorja?”

Thrawn turned his gaze back on him, leaning forward in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his face.

“No, sir,” Dorja shook his head. He never considered studying an another language, there have always been protocol droids around whenever he needed to talk to aliens who couldn’t speak the Galactic Basic.

It wasn’t just the common language of all humans, it was the trade language among most aliens as well, hence the name, and the only aliens who didn’t speak the Basic at all were those who either physically couldn’t (though sometimes they could at least understand), those who kept only limited contact with other worlds (often located in the Outer Rim or in the Wild Space) or aliens who simply didn’t care to learn, using droids, servants or slaves as their translators. Knowledge of other languages was therefore redundant in everyday life.

Still, there were humans who would choose to pick up an another language for reasons ranging from innocent to downright suspicious. Swearing in alien languages was immensely popular thorough all the Galaxy, and even Dorja was familiar with a couple of Huttese insults, though a Coruscanti nobleman like him would certainly never use them, it was below his dignity, then there were language enthusiasts, scientists, ISB operatives, smugglers, and of course, the insurgents.

“Language transfer is a complex phenomenon resulting from interaction between learners’ prior linguistic knowledge, the target-language input they encounter, and their cognitive processes,” Thrawn explained the term.

Lieutenant Vanto saw their confusion so he chose to step in again. “The Admiral refers to speakers applying knowledge from one language to another language. Sometimes it helps, sometimes it results an unintentional error, either grammatical or syntactical, and sometimes, when interspecies cognitive processes are thrown to the mix, it completely changes the meaning of the sentence.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Riza said, taking a deep sip from her glass.

Dorja crossed his arms, trying his best suppress the creeping chill in his gut, he wasn’t supposed to know what kind of information she was phishing for, he couldn’t possibly intervene.

Lieutenant Vanto, thankfully, had no idea, so he continued. “Is that the reason, sir, why you are using fine arts to get into the minds of the other beings?” 

“Essentially correct, Lieutenant,” the Chiss said, looking unfazed, “while literature, and especially poetry, certainly offers an insight to the mind of the author, there are other factors one must take into an account, such as errors in translation or the second language acquisition of the reader. The fine arts simplify the process by removing the language and the cognitive barrier.”

Dorja looked at the Lieutenant once more; Vanto might not have Thrawn’s military genius, however, it seemed that the young man was capable of keeping up with Thrawn’s reasoning. No wonder the Grand Admiral saw potential in the country bumpkin.

His train of thoughts was interrupted by a soft beep coming from Lieutenant’s Vanto small datapad.

“Excuse me,” the Lieutenant said and took out the device, looking at the screen. “Ah, Admiral, you have a new priority message from Lord Vader, sir.”

Wordlessly, the Grand Admiral took the datapad from his aide-de-camp and read the message, his eyebrows marring in a frown, his expression clouding in an annoyance. Then he proceeded to type a few words and returned the datapad back to the Lieutenant.

Dorja’s eyes boggled in surprise. Had the Grand Admiral just told Darth Vader to wait?!

The alien seemed to notice his shock, giving him in a small shrug. “Lord Vader needs to learn patience. I will review his request through proper channels and with appropriate security measurements once I return back to the _Chimaera_.”

Dorja suppressed a shudder, he truly hoped the Chiss didn’t include the automated signature and the confidentiality notice. Of course he did, this was Grand Admiral Thrawn he was talking about. He could easily imagine how the message went:

* * *

From: thrawn@high-command.empire

To: darth.vader@high-command.empire

Lord Vader,

I regret to inform you I am unavailable at the moment. I will review your request through proper channels and with appropriate security measurements once I return back to the _Chimaera_.

Thrawn

Grand Admiral

Imperial High Command

Affiliation: The Seventh Fleet

Flagship: Imperial Star Destroyer _Chimaera_

This message (including any attachments) may contain confidential, proprietary, privileged and/or private information. The information is intended to be for the use of the individual or entity designated above. If you are not the intended recipient of this message, please notify the sender immediately, and delete the message and any attachments. Any disclosure, reproduction, distribution or other use of this message or any attachments by an individual or entity other than the intended recipient is prohibited under Imperial law.

* * *

 Dorja shook his head; unfortunately he couldn’t take away the glass from Riza without raising the alien’s suspicion he knew about his little unintentional innuendo, it hardly fit into the description of a captain’s responsibilities. He hoped the alcohol didn’t muster her courage enough to ask more inappropriate questions.

While Dorja and Thrawn were busy discussing the etiquette, and Vanto was trying to keep up with Thrawn’s reasoning, Riza found a different way to occupy her time, drinking most of the second bottle. He never thought he’d say it, but he truly prayed the Dark Lord didn’t like to be kept waiting. And it seemed that his prayers were answered since there was an another beep coming from Lieutenant Vanto’s datapad.

“What is it now, Lieutenant?” Thrawn asked, annoyance at the interruption in his voice crystal clear.

“I’m sorry, sir, this time it’s for me,” Vanto said sheepishly, looking at the datapad screen, then frowning, “Oh, ehm, it’s a message from Lord Vader’s aide, sir, asking how long it would take you to get aboard the _Chimaera_ because he cannot possibly deliver such a message to his master.”

Dorja wondered whether Lord Vader would soon find himself in a need of a new personal aide. It must have been the worst job in the Galaxy, no one in their right mind would have volunteered for the assignment.

“Tell him,” the alien fell silent for a while; he truly held the life of the man on the other end of the line in his hands.“I am already on my way and will be aboard the _Chimaera_ in thirty minutes. And please mention that if he requires further clarification he is to send it to my account, not yours. While I can understand his motives I do not appreciate such cowardly tactics.”

Dorja let out the breath he had no idea he was holding. It seemed that the Dark Lord would not be in a sudden need of a new personal aide. Still… Thirty minutes. That meant the Grand Admiral planned to stay a while, the journey back to the _Chimaera_ couldn’t have taken more than ten minutes, members of the High Command had absolute flight priority. A lot could happen in twenty minutes.

“A word with you, if you please, Captain Dorja?”

“Of course, sir.”

Dorja stood up and led him to an another private room where they could safely talk without a risk of being overheard. He didn’t know what was it about, however, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that this time it was him walking straight into a trap.

“While the discussion has certainly been informative, and I truly appreciate your offer to broaden Lieutenant’s Vanto education, I had something else in mind when I asked whether you would be willing to disclose valuable information, Captain Dorja.”

Dorja let out a discreet cough. “Of course, sir, if there is anything I can do...”

“Anything, you say?” The Chiss once again pulled him into the strange, hypnotizing red gaze. And then he came into a full-blown offensive. “Very well. I want everything there is to know about the Order of the Canted Circle. I heard Admiral Konstantine was a member.”

“That is a rather delicate topic, Admiral,” Dorja felt his body go all numb but kept his voice even and steady, not giving himself away, “Everything about the Order is shrouded in secrecy. While Admiral Konstantine mentioned he had connections at the highest places, he very much enjoyed keeping his senior command staff in the dark as to how high exactly his connections went.”

The Order of the Canted Circle, one of the oldest and most exclusive social orders on Coruscant whose members included some of the galaxy's most powerful, influential and wealthy beings. Gaining membership was a rare privilege as, on average less than a dozen new members were invited each decade, an infinitesimal number compared to the list of waiting elite.

There had been some very influential names associated with the Order, including members of the InterGalactic Banking Clan and ancestors of Chancellor Valorum.

“I will make myself clear, then, Captain,” the expression on the pale blue face hardened imperceptibly, “You come from a very influential family who has served the Core for six generations, Captain, surely you must know of other people who might be associated with the Order.” 

_There is no use dancing around the Admiral, Rhys, if he as much as suspects there is anything worthy of his attention, he won’t stop until you’ve satisfied his curiosity, and it’s entirely up to you whether the conversation’s gonna be pleasant or not._

“Indeed I do,” Dorja admitted, rubbing his hands nervously. “Actually, I’ve been told that my grandfather, a former Admiral of the Coruscant Defense Fleet, had been a member of the Order at a certain point of his life. He never once spoken about it, though, nor he ever mentioned the reason why he retired from the military and left the politics altogether, sir.”

“I assure you, Captain, that I am well aware of the danger associated with the Order of the Canted Circle,” Thrawn said in a tone of durasteel. “I would be very grateful if you arranged a private meeting with your grandfather and never mentioned it to anyone.”

“Admiral...” Dorja breathed out.

“To use the language of Coruscanti people, Captain Dorja, name your price.”

“I...”

It was _so_ tempting. It didn’t happen every day a member of the High Command asked a mere captain for a favor, giving him a complete freedom as to the choice of his reimbursement. He could have literally asked Thrawn to pull a few strings and have him transferred to Coruscant Defense Fleet, the assignment he had dreamed about all his life...

“I will arrange the meeting with my grandfather, Admiral, though it’s possible it will be of a little use to you, sir, his recall of past events is not what it once was. Whenever I asked him about the transformation of the Republic into the Empire and the political shift that followed, grandfather came up with utter nonsense.”

Despite all bacta treatment, his grand father has been senile for as long as Dorja could remember.

_You’re trying too hard. You won’t get anywhere with that sort of behavior. Stop trying and just be yourself._

“And I don’t want anything in return, sir, for you have already given me more than I could ever hope for, a chance to show the Seventh Fleet there is more to me than a pedigree.”

It hurt a lot to admit it aloud, still he continued.

“I won’t lie to you, sir, I have ambitions, and I strive to become a member of the High Command one day, but I don’t want it to happen thanks to my family connections.”

However, would it ever come to it? Was he even up to it? How many years it would take?

“I see,” the alien said in an emotionless tone, the pale blue face cold, hard, and unreadable.

“I will offer a word of advice regarding your command style, then, at least. You would do well to remember this, Captain, your primary talent lies in defense. Use it to your advantage instead of carrying your heritage on your shoulders like a burden.”

The alien eyes were boring into his, making him deeply uncomfortable.

“And as for Commander Riza, while I may not always approve of her choice of words or her methods, I appointed her as your first officer because I was certain she would help you reach the correct decision whenever the situation calls for it. Carry on.”

Dorja tried hard not to think especially about the last part, feeling the warmth coming to his cheeks; aloud he said: “Thank you, sir, I appreciate it.”

Thrawn gave him a curt nod, releasing him from the deep gaze, the expression on his face completely alien, and motioned him for them to return to the table and then go their separate ways; meanwhile Riza and Vanto became deeply engaged in a discussion about Lysatra, the Lieutenant’s homeworld.

Dorja could only shook his head in astonishment, what Core Worlder in their right mind, no matter how broke, would have possibly believed that there were still planets who used objects resembling a human figure to keep birds off their crops?

‘Scarecrows’, really?

How quaint...

* * *

Pellaeon was waiting for the Grand Admiral in the _Chimaera_ ’s main hangar bay, watching the ramp of the _Lambda_ shuttle descend down with a hissing sound, revealing the two passengers waiting until they were cleared to disembark the shuttle. The Grand Admiral came down first, motioning to Lieutenant Vanto to carry on and return back to his duties.

“Captain Pellaeon,” Thrawn inclined his head in a greeting.

Pellaeon stood a little straighter. “Welcome back, sir,” he said with obvious relief in his voice, “Lord Vader’s aide has been asking for you. Apparently, his master did not take it well you canceled the appointment with him at such a short notice.”

“I find Lord Vader’s lack of patience disturbing, Captain,” the Grand Admiral said nonchalantly, his face completely straight, expressionless, and without an acknowledgment he started walking toward the escalator, returning to his suite to answer the summons from the Dark Lord.

Pellaeon suppressed a smirk, and hurried to keep up with the long strides of his superior, following him inside, choosing two different destinations, the bridge for himself, the admiral’s office for the other man. Once the doors closed behind them, he made a calculated risk.

“If I might be so bold, sir, how was the lesson on Imperial Court etiquette?”

The Grand Admiral pressed an override on the escalator, effectively stopping it in place.

Oh, oh.

Slowly, lazily, the Chiss turned first his head and then his body towards him, his face carved from a pale blue marble. “I beg your pardon, Captain?” 

Pellaeon stood his ground, looking up straight into the glowing red eyes. “I realize I’m overstepping my place, sir, but I cannot help wondering... Curiosity is a trait not limited only to the Chiss, sir, it is a human trait as well.”

“True. Humans and Chiss do share a common ancestry,” the Grand Admiral said dryly, giving him a long contemplative look before nodding.

“Very well, Captain. I owe Colonel Covell an apology, he does not deserve the ‘moron of the year’ pin I gave to him. Captain Dorja and Commander Riza do. I might even need to come up with a different design for them. I did not expect to be awarded to two people at the same time.”

Pellaeon shook his head. “You have a very creative methods of punishment, sir.” 

The Chiss truly had a strange sort of code of conduct, and even stranger concept of humor, darker than Lord Vader’s armor, and he would have his head had Pellaeon ever breathed the word aloud. Also, Thrawn truly gave the pin to Covell after the Colonel dared assume he was acting on Thrawn’s behalf by conveniently placing the two into each other’s arms. 

“Would you prefer the means of discipline Lord Vader exercises over his subjects?” The Chiss raised an eyebrow.

“No, sir,” Pellaeon replied immediately.

“Do not presume to play innocent, Captain,” the Chiss took a step closer, invading his personal space, “there is an ulterior motive behind your question.”

“Guilty as charged, sir,” Pellaeon raised his hands in surrender. “I and Colonel Covell bet a bottle of Corellian whiskey whether Captain Dorja would nerf out.”

“Humans.” The blue face marred in a disapproving frown. “I do not know whether it would satisfy your curiosity or not, Captain, but you were both correct, I presume, so you might as well share the bottle.”

The corners of the pale blue lips twitched in a smirk.

Pellaeon blinked. “And you will overlook such a breach of regulation, sir?” he asked disbelievingly, remembering the glare and the hiss he had received when he had pleaded for mercy on their behalf in the first place.

“I merely let them believe whatever they want to believe,” The Chiss scoffed. “There are times when letting nature take its course produces the best desired result, Captain, therefore I decided not to intervene.”

Pellaeon cleared his throat. “If I might be so bold, sir, what is it they believe?”

Thrawn of all people couldn’t have him blamed for being curious, could he? Especially since he canceled all his plans for the evening to return planetside as soon as he received a reply from Dorja, the timing itself spoke volumes of Thrawn’s own curiosity.

Only he didn’t like to be reminded of the fact; the glare intensified.

“Among other things, Captain, they believe they have fooled me. They might have behaved professionally according to Lieutenant Vanto, indeed he has been _very_ helpful in determining whether an uninformed third human party might get suspicious, however, I would have to be blind not to see, of course.” 

Lieutenant Vanto never met them, he didn’t know about their growing affection for each other, and he had no idea the two left the Imperial Palace together. Pellaeon could easily imagine how the meeting went, that was the reason why he was forbidden to intervene, he would have warned them otherwise; they were trying their best to act nothing out of ordinary while the Chiss was reading them like an open book.

Well, at least the loth-cat found attempts of the mice entertaining enough to actually let them get away with it, a small miracle on its own.

“There is a saying among my people, Captain: 'Judging is acting on a limited knowledge.' I might have found their attempts highly entertaining, however, my own amusement was not the primary motive behind my decision making process."

Pellaeon's cheeks reddened at the unspoken accusation. 

"And for the record, Captain Pellaeon,” the Grand Admiral continued, the tone of the voice suddenly becoming cold as ice, “I would _not_ tolerate such breach of regulations from my flagship captain.”

“I’m sorry, sir, for my assumptions, but that was truly uncalled for,” Pellaeon gritted out. He might have made an unspoken accusation in the privacy of his own mind, but the Chiss not only read him like an open book, he proceeded by deliberately going after Pellaeon’s only weakness: Gil and his women.

“If you are referring to Commander Faro, she and I are both Clone Wars veterans who sit down once a month and share war stories over a fine brand of Corellian whiskey.”

Pellaeon saw no need to deny his friendly relations with the Commander, he certainly enjoyed her company, indeed she was very much like him, and she was also a member of the crew, in the direct chain of command. He drew himself into his full height, boring his eyes into the deep red gaze; he might not as tall, he might not be as physically imposing, and he might not be as intimidating, but he was the captain, and this was _his_ ship, and he prided himself on running his ship with order and utmost efficiency, never tolerating disorderliness from his subordinates or even from himself.

The Chiss held his gaze, studying him as if he had been a particularly puzzling piece of art in his collection, until he finally nodded and took a step back, retreating from his personal space, realizing he had overdone this.

“My apologies, Captain, it was not my intention to offend you.” 

“Apology accepted, sir,” Pellaeon gave him a curt nod, lowering his eyes, then adding, “I’ve been wondering sir, if, perhaps, you wouldn’t be interested in joining us. I know pretty much everything about the era interests you.”

Thrawn blinked, looking stunned for a second. “You cannot possibly expect me to sit down and listen while you two exchange war stories.” 

“Of course not, sir,” Pellaeon added hurriedly (as if Thrawn  _ever_ indulged in such human vices). “However, you have expressed an interest in the Clone Wars numerous times, sir, and I thought you might be interested in listening to descriptions of the battles.”

“No doubt you meant listening to a heavily romanticized retelling rather than listening to accurate descriptions of the actual events that took place.”

The Chiss tilted his head to a side, no doubt thinking Pellaeon must have lost his mind.

“Ah, yes, sir,” Pellaeon admitted sheepishly, “that is exactly what we are doing, two Clone Wars veterans reminiscing over the days long gone over a fine glass of Corellian whiskey. In any case, if you ever change your mind, the offer still stands, sir. The Captain’s Ready Room, the last day of a month, 19:00 ship time.”

 

**THE END**

Author's note:

I have nothing against Commander Faro (in fact I think it's awesome that Thrawn's flagship's captain is a woman - finally, a capable female Imperial Navy officer - looking at you, legends!Daala), however, in my heart there is only one true captain of the ISD Chimaera: Pellaeon. So in this verse, Faro is Pellaeon's first officer. 


	6. Beneath the Mask and the Uniform

Rhys Dorja opened the main door for the Grand Admiral, and after a curt nod he received in greeting from the alien, an acknowledgment of gratitude and a clear sign to get straight to business, he led him directly to his grandfather's old suite.

Honestly, he had no idea what the Grand Admiral expected. His grandfather was well over one hundred years old and senile for as long as Rhys could remember. Still, the Grand Admiral insisted on the meeting, wishing for discretion and privacy, so Rhys gave the servants a day off. He remained as the only other person in the residence.

Knocking at the door leading to his grandfather's old study room, he waited until the old man allowed him inside, then he motioned for the Grand Admiral to follow him and closed the door behind them.

"Grandfather, please meet my commanding officer, Grand Admiral Thrawn." Rhys let out a discreet cough. "Grand Admiral Thrawn, please meet my grandfather, former Admiral Engelbert Dorja."

"A pleasure to meet you, Admiral Dorja," Thrawn said in his typical smooth, cultured voice, the glowing red eyes giving the old man a long, measuring glance.

"A _Grand_ Admiral?" His grandfather let out an amused snort. "What a fancy title you have. Back in my days there were only admirals around. Should I call you sir?"

"Grandfather!" Rhys exclaimed in a horror, flinching, and he risked a glance at the alien who, to all appearances, seemed completely unaffected by the bold words.

"You may call me whatever you wish, elder," the Grand Admiral replied calmly, his face impassive, neither friendly nor hostile; but the emphasis he put at the last word spoke of a genuine respect. Thank whatever higher power in the universe for miracles.

"The white uniform looks somewhat impractical, though," his grandfather continued, looking the alien up and down, none-too-impressed with the design. "It must attract a lot of dirt. You might need to change it more than once a day."

"Indeed."

Rhys covered his face with his hands. Honestly he didn't know whether to be embarrassed or horrified witnessing such an exchange. "I am sorry, sir. As you can see, my grandfather is senile. Please excuse his bluntness."

"He might be senile, you ungrateful brat, but he is not completely deaf yet!" his grandfather roared. The frail, old body supported by the hoverchair suddenly looked as physically imposing as the tall alien's form beside him. Well, his grandfather _had_ been an admiral once, and he had been able to yell everybody down like a drill sergeant.

Rhys winced. Grandfather certainly yelled _him_ down more times than he could remember.

"Well, it's been so long that I thought my old pupil forgot all about me," his grandfather said abruptly, and he looked up to the glowing red eyes with an accusation. "Didn't even drop by when I passed the three digits! So rude!"

Rhys blinked.

It didn't make any sense. Obviously, his grandfather and Thrawn had never heard of each other; and even if they did, they couldn't have possibly met in person. It was actually painful to see him behaving like this.

"Captain Dorja, perhaps it would best if you left us alone." The Grand Admiral spoke quietly, shifting his red gaze toward him. "I can find my way down when I am finished."

"As you wish, sir," Rhys conceded. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to comm me."

The alien gave him a miniscule nod and focused the red gaze back toward his grandfather, Rhys Dorja forgotten.

"Then I will leave you now."

* * *

After Rhys Dorja disappeared beyond the range of human hearing distance, Thrawn looked down and addressed the human elder once again: "Why are you pretending to be senile in front of your own flesh and blood?"

Thrawn had no desire to play the former admiral's game. He might have fooled everyone else, but not Thrawn. Behind every mask, there was a face; and behind every face, there was a story. The only question was whether this man would be willing to share the story with him.

"It is one of the few sources of amusement I have left!" the elder exclaimed. The undertone of his voice was too artificial to be sincere. The posture was too rigid to be natural, too controlled. A smirk marred the old, wrinkled face.

"And how many times it made me reconsider and change my will!" 

Mischievousness. A half-truth, then. Sadly, it was the latter half which was true.

While Thrawn could not see the emotions themselves, he could read the human body language well enough to attribute even the most subtle gesture to each reaction: humans literally had their emotions written all over their faces.

"The other source of amusement is the HoloNet!" The elder Dorja was looking up at him with a hope that Thrawn would allow him the indulgence. "You ever watch the HoloVision?"

"No."

"A shame!" The older man scoffed and made a wild hand gesture, inviting him inside. "Come! I will show you my favorite channel, HoloNet News Network!"

Very well. Thrawn would oblige him. Elders deserved to be treated with respect, no matter whether they were Chiss or human. And he had to admit, he might not have chosen the best approach in the beginning.

Thrawn crossed the room and lowered himself into a chair while the other turned on the holoprojector, switching between the channels until he finally found the one he sought.

 

_Precision sharpshooter? Join the StormTrooper Corps!_

_Ace pilot? Join the TIE Fighter Corps!_

_Wanna explore the Galaxy? Join the Imperial Navy!_

_Stand tall with your feet on the ground? Join the Imperial Army!_

_Believe in law and justice? Join the Imperial Security Bureau!_

 

_We have ships, we have weapons,_

_but we need SOLDIERS!_

_We need YOU!_

_Lord Vader cannot do it alone!_

_ENLIST TODAY!_

 

The setting changed. The Imperial emblem appeared over the logo of HoloNet News Network, accompanied by the name of the following program in aurabesh.

"Splendid! I _love_ COMPNOR's propaganda!" Elder Dorja beamed in excitement, his eyes gleaming with inner passion. "Little Armand sure deserves a medal! I'd never been able to come up with so much crap!"

_Loyal Imperial citizens, I am Alton Kastle, and it is time for our annual special dedication in honor of the anniversary of the Empire's Day, the day of the Galaxy's salvation, when our great Emperor Palpatine ended the Clone Wars and founded our glorious Empire!_

_Today, let us take a moment to remember one of the most glorious events of the past year: the infamous Battle of Atollon, during which the Imperial High Command and Governor Pryce of Lothal aptly demonstrated to the traitorous Rebel scum what happens to those who dare to speak against the Emperor!_

_The merry band of terrorists, led by none other than one of the Galaxy's most wanted criminals, Commander Jun Sato, was completely annihilated by the most fearsome warriors of our mighty Imperial Forces! Their main base of operation, a true den of iniquity, was blasted from the face of the universe by our Imperial Star Destroyers, and thanks to our special liaison with COMPNOR, we are here to bring you exclusive live footage from the battle!_

_*galaxy-wide exclusive*_

_Warning: the following material may not_

_be suitable for minors of all species_

The setting changed, showing a loophole recorded by one of the many security cameras monitoring the battle, featuring the concentrated fire at the Rebel's shield generator coming from the Imperial Star Destroyers.

 

_*commercial break*_

_Loyal? Prove it! Join COMPNOR today!_

_COMPNOR: ONE WITH THE EMPIRE_

_*end of commercial break*_

 

_Welcome back to HoloNet News Network, the most accurate and the only reliable source of information throughout the whole Galaxy!_

_While the Rebel scum naturally posed no real threat to our mighty Imperial Forces, unfortunately not all of our fearless warriors returned back to their families alive and well, sacrificing their precious lives for the greater good. Therefore, let us take a moment to remember one of the fallen heroes of the day: Admiral Kassius Konstantine, promoted to Fleet Admiral Konstantine in memoriam!_

_Admiral Konstantine, one of the most capable warriors in the entire Galactic Empire, played a vital role in obliterating the enemy fleet by preventing their means of escape with an Interdictor cruiser. Thanks to his brilliant strategy, all of the Rebels' ships were blasted apart by our fearless TIE Fighter pilots. Our Fighters may have no shields, but they have all the guts!_

_Without a doubt, the sheer desperation of going face-to-face with a superior foe must have been the driving force which pushed the enemy commander into a state of madness. After failing to produce any reasonable counter-strategy, he resorted to_ _the barbaric move of destroying the Interdictor by suicide-run,_ _committing an inexcusable_ _act of mass murder. Only Admiral Konstantine's quick thinking in the face of certain doom prevented any of the Rebels' ships from escape. In his last moments, he called in a second Interdictor cruiser from the reserve, renewing the gravity well and keeping the enemy firmly in place!_

_Let us forever remember him as one of the fallen heroes of the battle, sacrificing his life for the peace and safety of all loyal Imperial citizens—and, of course, for the glorious Emperor Palpatine himself! All hail Emperor Palpatine!_

 

Thrawn continued staring at the holoprojector, speechless. This was one of the extremely rare occasions he became completely, utterly at a loss for words. No matter how hard he tried, he was unable process the pure, unadulterated shock that found its way to his Chiss features.

Much to his horror, it was the warm laughter of the human beside him that finally helped him to reach his inner equilibrium, drawing back the reason amidst the chaos. He straightened in his chair, camouflaging his transgression with a cough.

"Director Isard's imagination certainly knows no bounds, elder. I would never have been able to invent such an ingenious tale even under influence of an addictive substance."

"Oh, little Armand tried _everything_ in his youth." The elder Dorja let out a soft chuckle, giving him a conspiratorial wink. Apparently, Director Isard was not the only one who tried everything in his youth. "Where do you think his crazy ideas come from?"

His expression grew deadly serious. "I gather from your reaction that the Battle of Atollon went somewhat differently?"

"Since I was the member of the High Command in charge of the battle, I can easily confirm there are elements to the story that are purely fictional." Thrawn slowly inclined his head. "However, and I hope you understand, I am not at liberty to disclose privileged information to non-combatants. It would constitute a serious breach of security protocols. I am sorry I cannot provide you with an accurate version of the story."

His host took no offense. "It's all right. What went wrong?"

"I am afraid I made a common mistake people make when trying to design something completely foolproof: I underestimated the ingenuity of a complete fool."

A warrior had to be able to acknowledge his own failures. There was no shame in admitting the truth.

The human guffawed in open amusement, his body emanating the increased infrared glow Thrawn associated with contentment; and then the glow slowly disappeared, replaced by a sense of melancholy.

"Well, at least the said fool was left to die a heroic death. Families of the fallen will be happy to hear their beloved didn't die in vain."

Thrawn suppressed an urge to flinch. He had expected Konstantine would have at least followed his orders long enough so that when Thrawn would eventually come down to lead the ground battle to capture the prisoners as per Grand Moff Tarkin's orders (and admittedly indulging in sort of a personal vice, showing the _Ghost_ 's crew that messing with Thrawn was a foolish mistake, leaving it up to them whether they would live to tell the tale or not), Konstantine's incompetence would once again even out and undermine Pryce's psychotic tendencies.

Instead, the fool had fallen for the first bait that presented itself, and he had dragged down his whole crew with him. So many lives uselessly spent. It was the crew of the Interdictor cruiser who paid the ultimate price for their commander's mistake: Thrawn had grossly underestimated the resourcefulness of an incompetent and unrepentant fool.

Since Thrawn couldn't call the Force to his will like Lord Vader, he should have strangled Konstantine to death with his bare hands immediately after his first idiotic stunt, or after Mycapo at least. While Thrawn never expected that Konstantine would be able to destroy the key to the location of the Rebels' base in the first place, he also never expected a battle against a single squadron consisting of teenagers could go so badly that Konstantine would request immediate assistance, either.

A _single_ squadron...

Thrawn had sent him in a light cruiser to limit the collateral damage to the civilian population of Mycapo. Allowing Konstantine to take the ISD _Relentless_ could have had truly catastrophic results.

Despite Thrawn's strong disagreement with Lord Vader regarding his command style and preferred means of discipline, he had to admit that the Empire couldn't afford the luxury of men whose minds were so limited they couldn't adapt to unexpected situations. To use the words of Lord Vader: there were people who were simply too stupid to live.

And this time, the total number of deaths greatly over-shadowed the death of a single admiral, even one with so many political connections as Konstantine. Alienating half of Coruscant would have been greatly preferable to the outcome that resulted. 

Again, it was the human's warm laughter that helped him to reach his inner equilibrium. The more time he spent around them, the easier it became for him to read their emotions and to follow their thoughts; and, as a byproduct, they were affecting his decision making processes more and more. He focused his attention back to the HoloVision.

Ah, HoloNet News Network was broadcasting Grand Moff Tarkin's infamous speech:

_For the first time in one thousand generations, our sector governors will not be working solely to enrich Coruscant and the Core Worlds but also to advance the quality of life in the star systems that make up each sector—keeping the spaceways safe, maintaining open and accessible communications, and assuring that tax revenues are properly levied and allocated to improving the infrastructure. The Senate will likewise be made up of beings devoted not to their own enrichment but to the enrichment of the worlds they represent._

Thrawn turned his head in the direction of the laughing human whose body emanated so much amusement at the speech that he glowed like a supernova to his infrared-sensitive Chiss eyes. He wondered what the author of the speech would say if he saw this man expressing his mirth so openly. Without a doubt, he would have him summarily executed.

"You know," the elder said between the fits of laughter, "the first part is completely spot on: _The factor that contributed most to the demise of the Republic was not, in fact, the war, but rampant self-interest. Endemic to the political process our ancestors engineered, the insidious pursuit of self-enrichment grew only more pervasive through the long centuries and in the end left the body politic feckless and corrupt. Consider the self-interest of the Core Worlds, unwavering in their exploitation of the Outer Systems for resources; the Outer Systems themselves, undermined by their permissive disregard of smuggling and slavery; those ambitious members of the Senate who sought only status and opportunity_."

The elder directly quoted the infamous speech, the firmness in his tone speaking of deeply engraved memories. Indeed, the speech had been drilled to every single citizen of the Galactic Empire.

"It's just the rest that's total crap," he finished, waving a hand in dismissal at the proclamation of the Emperor's selfless vision of the Galactic Empire that had followed.

Thrawn blinked.

"I can see why your whole family is under the impression you are completely senile if you display such an open amusement at the most fundamental pillar of the New Order, with total disregard for your own safety and no explanation."

COMPNOR operatives would have suffered from an apoplectic attack had they heard the man laughing out loud. It could have been very entertaining to watch.

"Well, they are pure-blooded Coruscanti. They have spent enough time in the Galactic City to know it's all crap, that it's all about money and power; but still they are all brainwashed into thinking the most dangerous man in the Galaxy is Darth Vader! Idiots!"

Thrawn could only nod in agreement. "Yes, it is a common misconception that Lord Vader is the most dangerous man in the Galaxy. The truth is Lord Vader merely lets his displeasure show openly."

"What a wise, enlightened ruler Emperor Palpatine must be to make even a Sith Lord fall for his charms and have him kneel before him, no?" The elder snickered. "Too bad the attack of the traitorous Jedi Masters left him too disfigured to make any public appearances. It seems even the finest quality bacta in the universe is no match for Jedi sorcery ways." 

Pride. Regret. Resignation. Acceptance. 

"Well, I guess I should feel honored that a member of the High Command was sent to kill me," the aged admiral said finally, letting out a deep sigh. "Thank you for allowing me a good honest laugh before my death, at least. While I cannot outlive little Sheev, I can at least die laughing at his antics. What a wonderful way to die. Can you make it look like an accident?"

"You misunderstand," Thrawn explained, making his voice smooth and carefully modulated. "I did not come here as an executor of the Emperor's will, elder. In fact, I did not come here in any official manner at all."

"Why the white uniform, then?" the human sneered. Disbelief. Doubt. Scorn. Loathing. "To watch me squirm?"

Thrawn bowed his head in an apology. "I beg your forgiveness, elder. I simply wished to know whether you wore the mask so long you have forgotten who you were beneath it. I did not expect that the white uniform would illicit such a reaction from you."

"Oh, you could see right through my little act, then?"

Thrawn saw no reason to deny him the explanation. "My sensory perception is different from that of a human. I couldn't have missed your bodily reaction face-to-face with whom you thought to be your executioner. Nor could I have missed your immediate acceptance of the inevitable. You are past the fear of death, elder. Why do you insist on prolonging your life in this manner?"

The elder seemed lost in his thoughts, the stiffness in his stance signaling an inner dilemma. "As long as I am alive, my family clan can still use my name to open the doors for them in the Core Worlds. Also, it prevents them tearing each other apart fighting for the inheritance. When I die," he let out a soft sigh, "the Dorja family will fall apart. Like all pure-blooded Corucanti, Dorjas are interested only in money. The best farewell gift I could give them would be disinheriting them all."

Thrawn observed the human's face. There was sadness, disappointment, and self-loathing clearly written in his expression. He must have been let down by his own blood more than once. In any case, he was serious when he spoke of changing his last will multiple times.

"For all you are wise, elder, you are wrong. There is at least one Dorja who has finally realized there are things in the universe that cannot be bought with money."

The elder raised his eyes to meet his, a glimmer of hope brightening up his gaze, his facial muscles relaxing fractionally. "Rhys? Took him long enough," he said dryly. Behind the sarcasm, there was a sense of deep gratitude. "Thank you, I suppose, for teaching him a valuable life lesson."

Thrawn shook his head in dismissal. "You should thank his first officer, not me. Commander Riza is the one who taught him that particular lesson. In all honesty, though, I cannot appreciate her teaching methods."

"Oh?"

There was an open curiosity in the man's expression, even a human would have noticed. The man already begun making his own assumptions based on the provided information. Close enough.

"They are having an affair," Thrawn specified, keeping his voice even, not allowing any of his personal opinions on the matter into his tone and wondering about the former admiral's reaction.

"Is it only an affair?" the elder asked, raising an eyebrow. No emotional undertone. Neither positive nor negative. No shock either. Only curiosity.

"Or is it more?"

"At this time, it is an affair," Thrawn confirmed for him. "A serious breach of regulations even among the humankind." Among the Chiss, it was unthinkable. Letting it slide even more so.

"It remains to be seen whether it develops further. Only the time will tell." Thrawn suppressed a sigh. He was making _so_ many allowances for humans…

The elder roared in laughter, his body language a mixture of pride and satisfaction. "Oh, he definitely got that after me!"

And suddenly he stood up from the hoverchair and started walking over to a drawer near the wall, calling in whatever hidden reserves he still had in his old, frail body. He moved with the grace of a warrior, looking more than fifty years younger.

For the second time today, Thrawn could only stare, speechless. His first thought was to offer an arm in assistance but he quickly dismissed the idea. The old man clearly intended to finish the task alone. Any help would have been unwelcome.

Quite an accomplishment for a human of his age.

Thus, Thrawn did nothing. He continued to sit and observe the ancient, weakened human. He spent years among humans, and still, even with all the understanding that came with time, he could only describe this human's action as reckless. Had he fallen down, it may have been the last thing he had ever done.

So impulsive.

So carefree.

So _human_.

Thrawn suppressed a smile. No matter how old they were, no matter how much wisdom and maturity came with the age, humans behaved like Chiss children. Well, Chiss and humans did share a common ancestry, after all.

"Here."

The elder handed him a framed sketch before sagging back into his hoverchair. The wooden frame looked at least ten years old; however, the canvas smelled much older, maybe seventy years or so. He had kept it around for decades, evidently replacing the frame whenever it broke or fell apart. Such action spoke of a particular fondness for the smiling, red-haired woman in the picture.

"Her name was Vana," he said, his voice colored with deep affection. A smile brightened up the wrinkled face, his eyes shining as brightly as two stars.

"She was my adjutant when I was a member of the Coruscant Defense Fleet."

The sketch spoke of intimacy. He must have drawn it himself, during a private moment with the woman in the picture. While it had no great monetary value, it was priceless to the artist, an irreplaceable memory; the long, soft brushes spoke of sentimentality and painful longing. Clearly he felt a deep affection for her, yet he never found the courage to ask for her hand in human marriage.

Thrawn stopped. There was so much more he could have read from the sketch, but he chose not to do so. By giving him the picture, the elder had unknowingly also given him access to his mind.

"Thank you, elder, for sharing a precious memory with me." He lowered his head in humility and returned the frame. It never ceased to amaze him that humans would share such deeply private things with complete strangers. No Chiss would have ever done that. Personal things were rarely discussed outside the immediate family. Sharing them with complete strangers? Unthinkable.

"Not a spouse, I presume?" Asking such thing would have been unthinkable as well; but then, Thrawn already knew the answer, and he was speaking to a human. Had the elder not desired to speak of her, he would not have shown him the picture in the first place.

"No." The voice was colored with deep regret. "A lover. It would have been such a scandal had I divorced my wife for a mere lieutenant commander from the Colonies."

Such was the name given to the region of the galaxy between the Core Worlds and the Inner Rim. Due to its close proximity to the galaxy's economic and political powerhouse in the Core Worlds, the Colonies comprised a largely wealthy region consisting of booming industrial planets, trade centers, and garden worlds.

Thrawn suppressed a smirk, keeping his expression and voice carefully neutral. "Commander Riza, your grandson's first officer, is a Rim Worlder." 

If the Dorja family had a problem with someone coming from the Colonies, Thrawn could easily imagine the expressions on their human faces had the Captain ever brought home a Rim Worlder. Chiss aristocras and wealthy human clans were not so dissimilar when it came to these things…

The elder burst into another wave of laughter, his facial features full of pure mischievousness. Again, his eyes were beaming as brightly as two stars.

"Oh, that's marvelous! Imagine their faces!"

Indeed he could. It was also another indulgence, one Thrawn could not possibly let show openly on his face, so he kept his expression impassive and unreadable to the other man. 

"It doesn't crack you up?"

The elder made an avuncular sound, dismissing him as a person who couldn't appreciate the irony of the situation. That was all right with him.

"Well, the times have changed, I suppose. The whole Galaxy now bows to the Emperor coming from the Mid Rim. Who would have ever thought of that? I remember Chancellor Valorum's face when he was replaced by Chancellor Palpatine. Valorum, the perfect puppet of the Core World bureaucrats, the true rulers of the Republic! And look at them now, bowing to the Emperor, willing to do anything to remain in his favor. Little Sheev beat them at their own game; one must give him that. If you didn't come here as one of his goons today, what is it you seek from me?"

Thrawn leaned forward in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his face.

"Information. I am about to be initiated to the Order of the Canted Circle. I would be very grateful for whatever assistance or advice you might provide."

"Advice? The best advice I can give you is to stay away from the Sith as far as possible."

Thrawn shook his head. "Unfortunately, elder, I am forced to make alliances with those of whom I would not normally associate."

Failure was not an option. There was too much at stake.

"Including the Emperor?"

"Including the Emperor. He was the one who recommended me to the Order in the first place," Thrawn admitted. "It opens the hidden doors to the Core Worlds."

"He's playing a game of dejarik against himself once again? That's little Sheev all right."

The elder let out a soft chuckle. It sounded like an admiration of the Emperor's cleverness, but what the human truly felt was self-loathing.

"I hope you are not planning to make a move against him. You will end up dead."

"I am not," Thrawn confirmed. "The Emperor will be the architect of his own destruction. It isn't in my best interests to remove him from the throne. In fact, I need him as much as he needs me. It is an alliance mutually beneficial to both. However, an alliance does not equal with acceptance."

"I see." The elder let out a deep sigh. How extraordinary. The human felt pity for him. Thrawn did not ask for his pity. He asked for his insight.

"Well, seems like you know with whom you're dealing, at least. I didn't. And when I finally found out, I called a tactical retreat. Does that make me a coward?"

The human thought himself a coward, initially hating himself for his actions, only later coming to the terms with it. However, it would seem that he still blamed himself for his supposed act of cowardice during rare moments of weakness.

"It does not," Thrawn assured him. "There is no shame in tactical retreat when one finds oneself facing an opponent one is unable to defeat for one reason or another. A battle is won by strategy and tactics, and if the only thing you do is fight, then you will inevitably die. You did what you thought was best at the time to protect the ones you cared about. You decision was sound. I merely chose a different approach back then, eliminating the potential threat by turning the enemy into an ally."

The elder let out a shudder. "No offense, but you sound scary."

"I have other qualities as well, elder," Thrawn soothed him, putting as much sincerity as he could into his voice. "Your grandson has proven himself worthy to me, and I will make a swift work of anyone who dares so much as to threaten him or his chosen mate. You have my word. On the other hand, I also reserve the right to discipline him in whatever manner I see fit if he ever abuses the trust I place in him. He makes a fine captain and is best to left to that role. However, only the time will tell whether or not he finally accepts it fully. There is too much ambition in him."

"Thank you, I suppose. You have a strange code of conduct."

It seemed to calm down the human somewhat, his posture relaxing considerably. Even so, the lingering fear of the unknown remained.

"I am a Chiss," Thrawn stated. The human didn't understand. He couldn't understand. Thrawn didn't blame him. "Chiss do not ask to be judged, elder. Not by you, not by anyone. We have our own set of rules, and we have our own set of values."

And now there was fear that Thrawn was too alien to care about the people of the Galaxy, fear he didn't care about the Empire at all.

"I have lent my services to the Galactic Empire, elder. Therefore, I will do my best to preserve the lives of all Imperial citizens, not only those I deem worthy of my attention."

"Thank you. There is no way I'm talking you out of this, is it?"

"No."

"As you wish then."

* * *

Rhys Dorja was waiting for the Grand Admiral in the library of the old family manor, occupying his time by browsing through the rare, leather-bound books his grandfather had collected over his long life. Books printed on paper were either treasured collectors' items, or they were meant to be given as gifts between friends and family. Paper was too impractical for daily use when compared to the electronic format.

Rhys tried watching the HoloNet News but it featured a heavily censored version of the battle of Atollon. Hardly surprising, really. The populism had been an essential part of politics even in the days of the Republic, with one of the movements giving birth to COMPOR during the Clone Wars era. That would later evolve into COMPNOR after the transformation into the Galactic Empire, taking the word propaganda to an entirely different level.

So he turned off the holoprojector and turned his attention to the leather-bound books. How many years was it since he had last done that? How many years had it been since he had visited here, spending more time than the bare minimum during the yearly family gathering? They all loathed each other, envying each other's positions and money, his own parents being no exception. There had been affection once, he remembered; but somehow over the years it all slipped away. The manor had become empty, cold, impersonal. Abandoned.

He was so preoccupied with his own musings that he didn't notice Thrawn until the alien was standing right next to him, looking over his shoulder at the book he was browsing through.

"Admiral!" He quickly rose to his feet, straightening up to attention as he closed the book and dropped it hastily to the table.

"At ease, Captain." Thrawn dismissed him with a raised hand, waiting to be led out of the manor so he could go back on his way. He had already spent hours here, and his schedule must have been very tight.

"Uh, sir," Rhys began nervously as they crossed the room and walked down the stairs. He glanced sideways, studying the icy blue face for any inclination of whether or not the meeting was of any use to the Grand Admiral.

"It's been whole afternoon, and I can't help wondering, sir—did you learn anything at all from my grandfather?"

"Indeed, I did, Captain Dorja," Thrawn said offhandedly in his usual cool, measured voice. "Your grandfather introduced me to HoloNet News Network. The channel offered an original take on the battle of Atollon. The next time I see Director Isard in person I will have to compliment on his highly imaginative storytelling. It proved to be very enlightening as well, I had no idea that COMPNOR propaganda was in fact supposed to be humorous."

_Oh no, grandfather wouldn't … only he would… and he did…_

Rhys felt all the blood slowly drain from his face, his body going completely numb. He took a step closer to the wall and tried to reach for the railing with his arm in an effort to steady himself; otherwise, he would have slipped on the stairs.

"Careful." The alien caught the other arm in a durasteel grip, offering silent support until Rhys finally found a moment to compose himself, his face deep red with embarrassment.

He never felt so awkward in his life.

"I assume from your reaction that COMPNOR propaganda is not supposed to be humorous," the Chiss said guardedly, the expression on his face too alien to interpret. He still held Rhys's arm, although somewhat less firmly now.

"No, sir," he croaked out in a hoarse voice. "My grandfather… he doesn't know what's going on anymore. It is most certainly not supposed to be humorous."

"In that case, I think it would be safest for all parties involved if we pretend this meeting never took place, Captain."

The Chiss finally released him from his grip, stepping away from him and walking down the remaining few stairs.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I agree it'd be for the best."

Rhys hurried down after the Grand Admiral, massaging his arm silently. There would definitely be a bruise forming later. Now how could he _possibly_ explain this to Karin?

"I cannot believe you spent a whole afternoon watching him laugh at the New Order propaganda, sir. It must have been an utter waste of your precious time. I am so sorry."

"Not at all, Captain," Thrawn countered, the red gaze brightening up imperceptibly. "I paid little attention to the HoloVision itself. Your grandfather introduced me to his drawing. The brushstrokes speak volumes about his decisions and approach. Truly enlightening."

Rhys breathed out a sigh of relief.

While his grandfather was laughing at the HoloVision, the Grand Admiral focused his attention on the sketches, ignoring the old man. It was a well-known fact that the Grand Admiral could spend hours simply staring at the works of art, and he was not to be disturbed unless there was an emergency. While the visit might not have brought him any useful information about the Order of the Canted Circle, at least the alien didn't consider it a waste of his precious time, thanks to the sketches.

He'd seen some of his grandfather's old works: ships, landscapes, women. What the alien could tell from them about his grandfather's command style escaped him; and in any case, the information was useless since the Grand Admiral would never find himself facing his grandfather in a battle. It might have counted as an interesting mental exercise for the alien, though, he supposed.

"Given your interest in the Significance of Art on Warfare lectures, perhaps you could test your own analyzing abilities, Captain," Thrawn suggested, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Ehm, sir, I'm afraid I'm not really able to read anything from the art. I tried my best paying attention during the lectures, but I could never understand what was being said," he admitted sheepishly.

"Yes, it was quite apparent from your questions, Captain," Thrawn said dryly, the expression on his face carved from pale blue marble. "Most of the time you asked about things that should have been obvious from the notes you highlighted."

By the Emperor, Karin was right. He really made a complete idiot out of himself every time he had asked a question. 

"I am sorry, sir."

"It is of no consequence," the Chiss said in a dismissive tone, the glowing eyes boring deep into his own, making him uncomfortable under the intense scrutiny.

"This time, however, you have a unique opportunity, one that might not arise again, Captain. You can directly ask the artist what he meant. Perhaps it might not give you any insight into his strategies; regardless, it is my belief that all thoughts are worth listening to, whether later to be judged of value or not. Good bye, Captain."

**THE END**


	7. Oil and Water Do Not Mix

_Weeding out incompetence, my ass_ , General Bittenfeld thought as he followed Lieutenant Eli Vanto and the rest of the gang through the streets of the Coruscant Underworld.

Technically, weeding out incompetence was what Bittenfeld was about to do aboard the ISD _Relentless_. In reality, though, he would double as Eli Vanto’s babysitter. Only, the Chiss was not fond of Bittenfeld’s blunt description of the truth. Thrawn sure didn’t take it well when Bittenfeld flatly asked how much he would be willing to pay extra per hour. _Vader on a speeder,_ the Chiss actually hissed at him, something that hadn’t happened since their first encounter all those years ago.

Whose _epically_ stupid idea was it to include Lieutenant Vanto for Captain Dorja’s little excursion to the Coruscant Underworld anyway? Covell’s, of course. It smelled like the scuttlebutt’s sneaky approach. His second-in-command was a very capable ground tactician; one day he would make a fine general himself. He must have known that Bittenfeld wouldn’t let Vanto go to the Underworld without a back-up. Now, how could Bittenfeld _possibly_ explain that to Grand Admiral Thrawn?

Well, if they wanted a back-up, they sure got one, for one Bittenfeld came here armed to the teeth; and he would blow the head off of whatever gungan-head dared to lay their filthy hands on the Grand Admiral’s adopted little bantha club.

At least the gang didn’t come down unprepared either. Pellaeon, Covell, Dorja, and even Vanto were wearing non-descript civilian clothes that didn’t instantly out them as Imps, with jackets that could hide a blaster and a vibroblade. Good. The only one not wearing a jacket was Riza. She was wearing a loose but practical dress. No high heels, of course—this was hardly a fashion show. High heels made running impossible, and knowing Riza, there must have been more than one gun hidden under that skirt. In any case, it was pretty obvious that the needle in her hair could double as a killing weapon.

A Lady with a capital L: strong, beautiful, and deadly. Bittenfeld loved femme fatales, especially two or three at the same time. Now, if only Riza wasn’t a member of the team, and perhaps if she had a sister or even a twin that would have been perfect.

 

Bittenfeld shook his head and turned his attention back to the lieutenant. Vanto wasn’t that bad for a star-gazer, he supposed, especially for a star-gazer who spent all his career sitting behind the desk and filling forms. He had a bright mind and sharp reflexes; not exactly army material, but he would probably fare well in a fair fight with his fellow Navy officers.

Maybe Bittenfeld could use his free time aboard the _Relentless_ to teach the young man more advanced self-defense techniques. He didn’t have to behave like a drill sergeant to him, only to the bucket-heads. A certain someone couldn’t have said it better: self-defense was an important part of any well-rounded education.

Mastering conventional close combat techniques would bring him victory in a mock fight with fellow Imps. In a real fight, though, it would bring him only death. Thrawn was one of the few who understood this. He certainly never had any qualms about striking at an opponent’s weakest point in a combat. It was the fastest and most effective path to victory.

This was what Thrawn and Bittenfeld had in common. The difference lay in their command styles and preferred approach. Thrawn had patience: he would bide his time until his opponent revealed his meager defenses; and then he would strike him down, tearing him apart with minimum effort and expenditure on his part.

Bittenfeld, on the other hand, had attention span of a redheaded Wookie on spice. He was aware of his own weakness, but there was nothing he could do about that—not really—so he used it to his advantage instead. He would go and create the opening himself using raw force; and what he couldn’t solve with force, he would solve with even greater force. He didn’t tear his opponents apart piece by piece. Instead, he blew them into pieces.

Bittenfeld knew his approach couldn’t be used at all times. Unlike a certain pyromaniac, he actually preferred minimum collateral damage; so he trusted Thrawn with the decision as to when to unleash his full potential and when to follow Thrawn’s walkthrough step-by-step—or when to flatly give over command of the ground forces to Thrawn to produce the best desired result.

Also, Bittenfeld didn’t have Thrawn’s strategical genius, nor he was interested in the larger events on the galactic scale. Instead, he stood with his feet firmly on the ground, focusing on the objective at hand, and left the plotting, scheming, and puppeteering to the white uniformed star-gazer. Well, Thrawn wasn’t a star-gazer, not really. He was worse. He was an art-gazer.

As he watched over Vanto and the rest of the gang that he somehow ended up babysitting, he noticed Covell was looking at him with apprehension, mustering up his courage to ask something he would have never asked aboard.

Bittenfeld let out a snort. Great. Just because they dropped the ranks and ‘sirs,’ for the sake of not sticking out like bucket-heads at a bounty hunters’ guild convention, the scuttlebutt thought he could stick his butt where it didn’t belong.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ll ever get another chance,” Covell said, standing a little straighter but fortunately far from military attention. “You and the boss are like oil and water, matter and antimatter, and I just can’t help wondering...” He took a deep breath, preparing to say whatever was on his tongue because he knew Bittenfeld never really cared about how people said things as long as they spilled it.

“How come the ship is still in one piece?”

Bittenfeld let out a sigh and resisted the urge to pat that dense, nosy head of his second-in-command. “Look, Covell, I like you. I really do. But perhaps you should actually start wearing that ‘moron of the year’ pin if you’re gonna keep asking questions like that.”

Covell’s face reddened at the rebuke. He opened his mouth to say something but then closed it again right away, thinking better of it. Instead, he just shook his head as he stood next to the general, the two of them watching the rest of the gang as they explored one of the biggest closed flea markets the Underworld had to offer. His eyes monitored all potential threats: bounty hunters, smugglers, spice junkies, and convicted criminals lurking behind every corner.

Essentially, the ‘Marketplace’ was a disreputable establishment—only, a different kind of ‘disreputable’ than Bittenfeld would have preferred. Located below even the Lower Levels, in the very heart of the Coruscant Underworld, this flea market was one of the main arteries of the black trade, a place where one could buy truly anything, no questions asked. It was one of the real dens of iniquity that Covell wanted the Coruscanti snob to see to broaden his high-class education.

Later, he would give Covell an epic dressing-down for maneuvering him into providing this much needed back-up, but right now they were both busy star-gazer-sitting.

“We have an understanding,” Bittenfeld said as an explanation. “Can’t see why you keep thinking the ship’s gonna blow up every time the gundark and the red-eyed devil hold a tactical briefing.”

“Well…”

Bittenfeld rolled his eyes. He didn’t like the spineless nerf Dorja, but he had to admit he came up with a fitting nickname for Covell: the ship’s number one gossip girl. Covell certainly lived up to the reputation.

“We shared a bunk for one month as lieutenants,” Bittenfeld groaned with exasperation. “And if the _Strikefast_ didn’t explode back then, can’t see why the _Chimaera_ should blow up any moment.”

“You. Shared. Bunks?” Covell breathed out disbelievingly, his jaw dropping. He looked as if his whole world just turned upside down.

“For a whole month?!”

“You better close that mouth before a Coruscanti hawkbat flies in, Covell.” Bittenfeld burst out in laughter. The scuttlebutt’s face was priceless. Oh, he really liked his second-in-command, he really did. He meant well. It was just that sometimes he was simply not the brightest star in the galaxy.

“Yeah, we did. Now you know. Satisfied?”

“No, si—Not really. How did that happen?”

Bittenfeld used his fingers to massage the bridge of his nose. And now the scuttlebutt was starting to give him a headache. Great.

“If you think Thrawn’s methods of punishment are very creative, you are in for a surprise. I don’t think anyone can _ever_ top Parck’s level of ingeniousness.”

“Having made you to share a bunk together for one month... That’s... Corulag moons, that’s the evilest thing I can imagine. What in the Vader’s name did you do?”

Only it wasn’t meant to be evil. Captain Parck would have never done something so mean. The captain had always had a soft spot for Thrawn, and for Bittenfeld as well. No matter how much trouble it must have brought him, Parck kept them around, putting up with their antics, cleaning the mess after them, allowing them to rise through the ranks.

Thrawn hadn’t been exactly the most popular low-rank out there due to his alien heritage, and distancing himself from everyone aboard didn’t help his situation at all. While Bittenfeld could never resist crashing any party aboard, his big mouth got him into trouble whenever he opened it.

Captain Parck wanted them to overcome their differences and work together as a team. He knew too well that both of them were more stubborn than the most stubborn Corellian in the universe, and nothing else save making them share a bunk could accomplish such a feat.

“I might have picked on the wrong artist, you know, accidentally,” Bittenfeld confessed, giving Covell an innocent shrug. No one picked on Kahfr Oladia. Not on Lieutenant Thrawn’s watch.

“You made the boss lose his temper? Really?! But he’s like… well, you’re the one who can pretty much get away with _anything_ when it comes to art. You even fell asleep during one of his art lectures, and he merely blinked.”

“Yeah, well, that was before he figured out I’m a lost cause.”

He didn’t mean to offend Lieutenant Thrawn. He just honestly couldn’t see a difference between Mon Calamari pre-Imperial surrealistic paintings from their post-Imperial abstract paintings. To him, it all looked like the swoosh of a bantha’s tail. So he said so aloud.

To use Lieutenant Thrawn’s words, _that_ was a mistake.

Only Thrawn was too clever to throw the first punch. Oh no, he wouldn’t risk smearing his own service record. Instead, he manipulated Bittenfeld into starting the fight by hissing at him and giving him a sneak peek at what went behind the glowing red eyes: a death glare of such intensity that he had never, _ever_ seen Thrawn give to anyone else. And Bittenfeld did _exactly_ what the red-eyed devil had wanted him to do. He struck first in what he had thought to be self-defense, scared to death because he had expected that he would be mauled by the monster. As a result, Thrawn could rightfully knock him down and get away with a lighter sentence that wouldn’t go into his service record.

Oh no, Thrawn didn’t lose his temper, Thrawn _let_ loose his temper for a few seconds to show him what he was capable of doing in case Bittenfeld didn’t get the message. Only someone who didn’t have an ounce of brain left in their skull would ever want to get on the Chiss’s bad side twice.

Captain Parck had bailed them both out of the brig and had taken them aside, making himself crystal clear: if there was so much as a single punch, they would share a bunk for another month. And then another one. And another. Until they either tore each other apart or made peace with each other.

And it worked wonders. Thrawn immediately swallowed his pride, shaking his right hand with Bittenfeld, applying perhaps more pressure than necessary, _very_ careful to not to break a bone; and the month passed without a single incident. Captain Parck hardly believed his own eyes, so much so that he even asked them if they perhaps wanted to continue sharing the bunk. They replied in unison, without hesitation: “No, sir.”

Bittenfeld knew he had been nicknamed a gundark. Well, in _his_ personal opinion, nothing could be further away from the truth. The _real_ gundark on the _Chimaera_ wore a pristine white uniform, keeping his cool, staying composed under all circumstances, in perfect control over his inner beast. Something Bittenfeld never achieved.

“That must have been quite a month.”

“Sure it was.”

There might not have been any further incidents, but still there had been things they both had to swallow if they were to stand each other.

“But we both moved on. So stop worrying, scuttlebutt. The ship is really not gonna blow up anytime soon. Like I said, we have an understanding.”

Thrawn didn’t demand his loyalty by scaring him to death. No, Thrawn _earned_ his loyalty when their paths crossed once again. Upon his promotion to the rank of a vice admiral, Thrawn had asked for Bittenfeld as his resident Army commanding officer, to all appearances making an utter idiot out of himself. The Grand General had almost doubled over in laughter, telling him that he would gladly sign that order and even promote Bittenfeld into a general because Bittenfeld’s unrestrained mouth would be the final nail into Thrawn’s political coffin.

Just like with everybody else, Thrawn played the High Command as well.

“Speaking of the red-eyed devil,” Bittenfeld murmured under his breath as he laid a hand on Covell’s shoulder, pointing him in the direction of a dark shadow out of the corner of his eye.

“No _kriffing_ way,” Covell's  eyes widened in a shock. “He’s got to be kidding us. He came here alone? No back-up?”

“Looks like,” Bittenfeld nodded in agreement. “And if we’ve spotted him, it sure as hell means he already knows about us. Let’s go after him. Get the star-gazers.”

And so they all followed the dark shadow browsing through the stalls until he finally decided to stop ignoring them, leading them aside down one of the incorporated side streets where they could talk without an audience.

Bittenfeld gritted his teeth. Thrawn was wearing a dark, hooded cloak, dark gloves, and sunglasses to hide the tell-tale glowing red eyes. He wasn’t wearing a veil over his face; otherwise, they wouldn’t have been able to recognize him. And he was also carrying a dark shopping bag over his left shoulder.

“If your intent is to be walking around the Coruscant Underworld dressed up like a Sith Lord, sir, then you should have skipped the glasses because the glowing red eyes are far more intimidating than the black cloak,” Bittenfeld spat out, holding himself back from throwing a couple of much-deserved insults for such blatant disregard of one’s safety. Thrawn might have been strong, much stronger than the average human, but still he was no match against a well-organized attack by multiple assailants. Grand Admiral Thrawn had plenty of enemies—a whole legion, actually, especially here on Coruscant.

“I didn’t ask you for fashion advice, General,” the Grand Admiral chastened him, tilting his glasses down a little, giving him a red-eyed glare. Well, this one was _nothing_ compared to the one years back.

“No, sir, obviously you asked Darth Vader,” Bittenfeld threw right back, looking him up and down. They all wore non-descript civilian clothing to avoid unwanted attention. Only the Chiss decided to go on a shopping spree styled up like a Sith Lord. The High Command was definitely a bad influence. Who knew what might come next? Perhaps Thrawn would start wearing the dark cloak over his white uniform, walking around with Darth Vader like two men in black.

He could hear Covell snickering and jerked his head toward the insubordinate colonel, deciding to remind him to show proper respect to authorities by throwing him one of his own death glares.

“Something funny, Covell?!” 

“Anything you want to share with us, Colonel?” Thrawn’s voice was calm, perfectly smooth and cultured as always. The Chiss didn’t need to raise his voice to make his threat heard.

Covell flinched. “No, sir,” he croaked out, drawing himself up to his full attention, squirming under the concentrated glares coming from both of his commanding officers.

_Good. Serves him right._

Bittenfeld let out a small sigh and looked at the rest of the gang. Pellaeon was only shaking his head; Vanto was staring at them with open curiosity; Riza had crossed her arms in annoyance; and Dorja turned pale, almost chalk white, no doubt wondering whether it would be the gundark or the red-eyed devil who wouldn’t want any living witnesses of this particular exchange.

 _Tss, spineless nerf,_ Bittenfeld thought.

“With all due respect, Grand Admiral,” Bittenfeld tried again, this time with a clear head, addressing him with tone appropriate to his rank, “you should have paid more attention to your appearance and your personal security, sir. It’s not exactly the most subtle disguise, and you’re in the very heart of enemy territory. You have made yourself so many enemies on Coruscant that I don’t even know where to begin.”

Since the Chiss didn’t respond to the emotional outburst, maybe he would respond to reason at least. And Bittenfeld could easily provide him with a whole list of blaster-proof arguments as to why coming down here alone, masquerading himself like a Sith, was downright irresponsible.

“I assure you, General,” Thrawn replied calmly, his voice even, “I didn’t come here unarmed. And as for my unusual appearance, I have found this particular disguise to be the most effective when dealing with the local merchants. I do not even need to bargain to get a discount. And I always get an extra for free.”

Bittenfeld roared in laughter. No one in their right mind would try to bargain with a Sith Lord, let alone to cheat him.

“Still, sir, you should have come here with back-up, no matter what kind of illegal stuff you’re after.”

There was a sharp intake of breath coming from Dorja, and a discreet cough coming from Covell.

Bittenfeld ignored them both. Thrawn didn’t come here incognito shopping for some weird Zeltron sex toys banned by COMPNOR or to get high on hallucinogenic substances outlawed in all solar systems because of the deadly risk of overdose. No way—he was after a different kind of contraband. He came here shopping for stolen goods, for highly valuable collector’s items. In other words, more trinkets to add to Thrawn’s already extensive collection, which must have filled an entire storage room by now.

Even as a lieutenant, Thrawn had kept so much junk in his quarters that Bittenfeld actually had to pay attention to what he was doing. If one of the trinkets fell down and broke, then the ship truly wouldn’t have survived the impact.

“I am shopping for antiques, General,” Thrawn said nonchalantly, raising a black-gloved hand and waving it dismissively, as if that was self-explanatory enough.

“You’re not going to pretend they ended up here legally, sir, are you?” 

“No. Its origin is none of my concern. My only concern is that the works of great masters fall into the hands of someone who can truly appreciate them.”

“You.” Bittenfeld threw back, dead pan.

“Yes.”

Bittenfeld let out a whimper.

Thrawn and his trinkets. Typical. He would go to the greatest lengths to obtain the galaxy’s finest masterpieces, even placing his own life at risk in the process.

“From time to time it is possible to find here a long-lost treasure in the hands of someone who has no idea of its true value.” Thrawn gave them all a long, measuring glance. “And what, may I ask, is the nature of your visit to a place with such a dubious reputation?”

Covell came forward and decided to spill the beans.

“It was my idea, sir. I wanted to show Captain Dorja what’s going on below the Galactic City, sir. He has never once ventured down here. And the Marketplace, well, it’s in the very heart of the Coruscant Underworld. I figured showing him what a black market looks like would be a good place to start.”

“Hmmm,” Thrawn mused aloud, giving him a thoughtful glance. “And you suggested including Lieutenant Vanto in order to lure in General Bittenfeld for additional protection, did you not? It was your idea.”

“Yes, sir,” Covell admitted in the tone of a convicted criminal confessing his sins before his execution. Good. After the red-eyed devil was done with him, there would be no need for another dressing down; it would be like rubbing salt into a wound.

“Please, let me take the full responsibility, sir. The others disagreed about including Vanto. Particularly Captain Dorja.”

“Very cunning tactics,” Thrawn said with a rare hint of pride in his voice, the pale blue lips marring in a smirk, watching Bittenfeld with the look of a predator circling his prey. “Well done, Colonel.”

Bittenfeld’s jaw dropped. The red-eyed devil played him once again! Words of praise coming from the Grand Admiral were few and far in between; there was essentially nothing Bittenfeld could do. If he gave Covell a vicious dressing down after Thrawn publicly praised him, he would only look like an idiot howling out of wounded pride.

Well, Bittenfeld could recognize a superior foe when he saw one. He nodded slowly at the sly devil, and then he let out an honest laugh.

Thrawn waited until Bittenfeld found his composure, his glowing gaze flickering over the rest of the gang. “Are you going to let me go on my way, or do you insist on following me around?” 

“You might have won this round, Grand Admiral, but we’re going to stick around no matter what.”

Bittenfeld proudly raised his chin in defiance. There was no way any of them would abandon Thrawn in the heart of enemy territory, not when they were aware of his shady activities. The next time he came down here, it would be either behind everyone’s back or with a squad of undercover Death Troopers.

“Make yourself useful, then, General,” Thrawn said finally, handing the shopping bag over to him. “We are going shopping for antiques.”

_Great, from a babysitter to a valet._

* * *

_What have I done to deserve this fate?_ Bittenfeld thought, carrying a full shopping bag of trinkets the red-eyed devil had bought, taking his time choosing each piece, turning not only Bittenfeld but all of them into his personal valets. Thrawn certainly wasn’t kidding when he had said he came here shopping for antiques. However, how the sly devil was able to tell what was a long-lost treasure and what was worthless piece of junk was beyond Bittenfeld’s comprehension. To him, it all looked the same.

The Chiss might have more stamina than an ordinary human (or perhaps he didn’t—perhaps it was the art that fueled his brain, each long-lost treasure recharging his batteries), but his valets were mere mortals. They needed a short break. Well, what they actually needed was a shot of the most volatile syrspirit this hellhole had to offer to overwrite the horrible experience. They all had enough for today, but it was obvious to everyone that Thrawn planned to continue with the shopping spree for who knew how long.

“Perhaps a refreshment break would be in order?” Pellaeon asked in tired voice, looking at the Chiss with open exhaustion. Pellaeon always had a knack for talking to the Grand Admiral, something that Bittenfeld never had. If there was anyone who could find a way to make Thrawn stop this torture, it was Pellaeon.

Thrawn gave Pellaeon a long look, taking in the tired expression on his face, and for a moment Bittenfeld would have sworn the pale blue marble softened. “Very well. A refreshment break is acceptable.” 

And so Thrawn took them into a café / diner / spice den—whatever it was, however they called it down here, for some of its customers sure didn’t look quite right in their minds; but neither did they appear downright hostile.

While Dorja looked beyond scandalized at the Grand Admiral’s suggested choice of establishment, Bittenfeld had to agree with the red-eyed devil that it was perfect for their purpose. No one would look twice at them, and they sure as hell didn’t have to worry about getting assaulted.

“I believe the original purpose of your visit was to broaden Captain Dorja’s education,” Thrawn said casually, giving them an innocent shrug. None of them actually ordered anything volatile, not here. It wasn’t worth getting permanently blind or worse, although they would definitely go drinking later.

“This establishment seems to fit the nature of your mission, wouldn’t you agree, Colonel?”

“Ah, yes, sir.” Covell let out a restrained cough, his gaze darting among the death stick junkies around them. “It certainly does.”

“I didn’t expect we would actually venture inside,” Dorja told Covell, looking around with the eyes of someone who had lived his entire life in the Galactic City bubble. The Coruscant Underworld must have seemed like a different planet to Dorja; the sun was a myth down here, making it the perfect place to hide all illegal activities going on at Imperial Center.

Well, the sun might have been a myth down here, but trust the Chiss to include sunglasses in his perfect Sith disguise. Bittenfeld shook his head in exasperation. True, the glowing eyes were his most distinctive feature, and he supposed a full facial mask would have dulled his senses, which he used to their full extent here. Thrawn had been staring at the pieces he had purchased, inhaling their smell, sometimes even taking off his gloves and running his pale blue fingers over them. For someone who remained calm and collected in all circumstances, Thrawn sure used his senses a lot while selecting works of art. It wasn’t his obsession; it was his passion. The sly, red-eyed devil…

“You have witnessed the effect of the disguise first hand, General,” Thrawn said in self-defense, obviously following his trail of thought and shooting him a hard glare. Well, one didn’t need to be a Chiss to read Bittenfeld. Whatever was on his mind was plainly written on his face and soon found itself on his tongue.

“True.”

Bittenfeld had to admit that the sly devil sure got a real bargain for whatever trinket he laid his eyes upon, with none of the merchants daring to sell it for the stated price. He carefully took out a tea bowl from a bag, the most expensive piece of today’s art hunt. 

“Still, I just can’t see what’s so special about this one. A broken bowl for which you paid 10,000 credits.”

At a tenth of the original price, it was still an outrageous sum of money. He could have smuggled himself into Alderaan for such a price.

Pellaeon cleared his throat. None of the present crewmembers could see what was so special about the broken bowl, either, but they were all too polite to say it aloud. Well, to the Sarlacc pit with politeness! It was just a broken bowl.

Thrawn let out a soft sigh, clearly indicating that Bittenfeld was a lost cause. Even if he explained himself, Bittenfeld would never understand.

“Never mind, General.”

Pellaeon took the bowl from Bittenfeld, looking at it from various angles and directions. “Actually, sir, I would be interested to hear the story behind the tea bowl. I understand it must be a stolen, long-lost work by a renowned artist, hence the original price tag of 100,000 credits. Your disguise certainly paid off.” 

Vanto was looking intently at the bowl as well, borrowing it from Pellaeon after he was done with his careful examination. “Whoever owned it before must have recognized the skill of a true master and chose to preserve it when it broke rather than throw it away. Look.” His fingers hovered over the broken edges. “They even used gold to repair it.”

Thrawn slowly inclined his head. “Yes. You are both correct, gentlemen. It is indeed an old and rare _object d’art_ made by a well-known master of the craft. However, the merchant had no idea of its _true_ artistic value. Otherwise, he never would have offered the bowl for such an outrageously low price in the first place, much less part with it at such a bargain.”

_Outrageously low price? 100,000 Imperial credits?!_

Thrawn took the bowl from Vanto, taking off one black leather glove, running his pale blue fingers over the golden coating, his eyes giving out a dim glow, his voice getting dreamy.

“It is the gold that elevated the _object d’art_ into a truly priceless _masterpiece_. Not because of the value of the metal; by treating breakage and repair as part of the history of the object, illuminating it with gold instead of disguising it, this bowl encompasses the concepts of acceptance of imperfection, and of equanimity amid changing conditions as inevitable aspects of life.”

Bittenfeld blinked. The others looked stunned as well, but Bittenfeld recovered first, saying what was on his tongue after hearing the incredible story behind the tea bowl.

“So, it’s a broken bowl with a meaning.”

Thrawn threw him a sullen look.

“Yes, General, in a manner of speaking, you are correct. It is, indeed, a broken bowl with a meaning. Very well, I see your point, gentlemen. Let’s go back.”

 

**THE END**

 

The broken bowl is based on [kintsugi](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kintsugi): Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum.

And Thrawn's look is obviously based on _Thrawn_ novel and [this epic fanart](http://humans-r-superior.deviantart.com/art/Little-Incognito-678603705) by humans-R-superior


	8. Meanwhile in the Unknown Regions (1/2)

**Title: Meanwhile in the Unknown Regions (1/2)**

* * *

 

Author’s Note: Apparently, in the new Canon, the Unknown Regions are located beyond the Maw, or its canonical equivalent thereof ( _Jedi Academy Trilogy_ ), which makes conventional communication and travel nearly impossible.

According to _Empire’s End_ , Admiral Thrawn (yes, ‘Admiral,’ not ‘Grand Admiral’ which gives me hope as to Thrawn’s fate after Rebels’ Season 04 considering his new Noghri friend Rukh) knew of a safe path through the labyrinth that led into the unknown and beyond, and there had been ships (plural) sent mapping the hyperspace routes, exploring uncharted space, and … and who knew what else they had been doing as a side business.

(EDIT: Clarification due to multiple feedback from readers: In Legends, Thrawn was sent to the Unknown Regions as "punishment" and Parck was demoted to Commander to make it look more convincing. It's quite possible in Canon!Thrawn could be demoted to Admiral and sent to the Unknown Regions for, let's say, losing to the Rebels? Who knows?)

As to how Eli Vanto fits into the bigger picture, well, I’m really curious whether Eli Vanto is about to become Voss Parck’s canonical alternate, but considering Thrawn sent Eli away _directly_ to the Chiss Ascendancy, to Admiral Ar’alani of all people, I don’t think so.

Anyway, using multiple agents, operating independently (often unaware of each other’s presence), is totally Thrawn’s style. I can’t see why Eli Vanto couldn’t be sent as an ambassador to the Chiss Ascendancy, while Thrawn still would be setting up the Empire of the Hand—not because of a thirst for power, as he never really cared about power for himself, but because being the supreme leader of a faction that could operate independently would give him more freedom in eliminating the threats that the Chiss Ascendancy couldn’t deal with because of their official policy of not engaging in pre-emptive strikes. It all fits together like a puzzle.

Once again, I’m combining elements of Canon and Legends, playing with the premise that while the Emperor had envisioned the Unknown Regions to be the future of the Galactic Empire, a sort of back-up plan in case the his grand dark vision failed (Canon), it had also corresponded nicely with Thrawn’s plans to pacify the Unknown Regions, obliterating the threats to his people as well as to the people of the Galaxy (Legends).

In this verse, the Emperor had sent Voss Parck aboard the ISD _Admonitor_ , one of the ships tasked with exploring the uncharted space; and Thrawn had given him a task of his own, one which would eventually lead into the formation of the Empire of the Hand, more or less how it happened in the Legends, with Parck being the regent of the Empire of the Hand in Thrawn’s absence. Enough talk, let’s get to the story! Get ready for Chiss sneaky BAMFness!

Warning / Disclaimer: Technoblable ahead, so I’m preemptively saying sorry. No one ever cares for the laws of physics in Star Wars anyway, and I’m no exception. And the first paragraph is a direct quotation from the _Empire’s End,_ no copyright infringement intended. You’ll see what I meant by the Unknown Regions being located beyond the Maw.

* * *

Outside the known galaxy was an unexplored infinity, one closed off by a labyrinth of solar storms, rogue magnetospheres, black holes, gravity wells, and things far stranger. Any who tried to conquer that maze did not survive. Ships were obliterated, or returned to the galaxy devoid of travelers. Communications from such intrepid explorers were incomprehensible, either shot through with such static as to make the content useless, or else filled with enough inane babble to serve as a perfectly clear sign that the explorer had gone utterly mad out there in isolation.

And yet, here they were, beyond the labyrinth that discouraged any sane travelers from venturing into the unknown and beyond, tasked with mapping the hyperspace routes and exploring the uncharted space that lay behind the maze. To use the words of good old Captain Niriz: ‘They were madder than mynocks.’

Parck shook his head, looking at the white-blue stark lines of the hyperspace route their main computer triangulated using Grand Admiral Thrawn’s data that had been fed into the navcomputer. The Unknown Regions might have been unknown to the Galactic Empire, but they had hardly been unknown to the Chiss who had lent his services to the Emperor. It wouldn’t be Emperor Palpatine if he didn’t make use of the Chiss’ knowledge; and it wouldn’t be Thrawn if he didn’t make use of Emperor Palpatine, while others would count themselves very fortunate indeed if they just made it out of the throne room in one piece, escaping with their bare lives as the only reward they would ever get for their services.

In fifteen minutes, they would exit the hyperspace lane, dropping out at a place of strategic importance located beyond an unnamed nebula filled with the much-needed natural resources of tibanna gas, doonium, and other materials indispensable for the self-sufficient base of operations Parck had been tasked eventually to build in the area.

Then suddenly, the white-blue stark lines disappeared, reverting back into actual stars, and the whole ship shook itself as it was pulled back into real space prematurely.

The Unknown Regions were full of natural gravitational anomalies; from time to time they had found themselves suddenly pulled out of hyperspace since they had re-calibrated their sensors to be more sensitive to these strange occurrences, automatically engaging the safety mechanism protocols whenever they found themselves too close to such a deadly force of nature.

“Red Alert!” Captain Niriz raised his voice, calling down directly to the crew pit, and the whole ship instantly fell into the usual drill when faced with this particular scenario.

“Helm,” Niriz then calmly addressed the crewman behind his console, “what triggered the safety mechanism?”

“Uhh, sir,” the lieutenant blurted out in a bewildered tone, “it seems we were pulled from hyperspace by an artificial gravity well, sir. Definitely not a natural occurrence.”

The man looked up at the captain with concern.

They found themselves facing an adversary equipped with an interdictor cruiser of an unknown range. Splendid. Just what they needed. Ambushed in the very heart of an unnamed nebula, one of innumerable stellar nurseries, surrounded by highly explosive gases that could be easily ignited by their proton torpedoes, resulting in their immediate destruction.

“All ships, maximum power to the shield generators.” Parck called as he walked over to Niriz, exchanging a frown with the captain, who didn’t like the situation one bit, either.

“Comm: what is the state of short range communication? Radar: what is the level of interference? Can we get any readings on our adversary? Number? Size?”

“Short range comm online, sir,” the comm officer replied instantly. “All three VSDs reporting in, communication slightly scrambled but understandable. All ships report no damage. Shields at maximum.”

“Too much interference from the gases and the radiation, sir,” the radar officer said, shaking her head. “The radar is as good as dead, sir. We are down to visual, trying to recalibrate the sensors. Wait, I’m getting Cronau radiation signatures, sir—ten, fifteen, twenty ships emerging from hyperspace, sir! We are surrounded from all directions. Impossible to verify the ships’ signatures due to the interference.”

Trapped within an interdiction field, surrounded by twenty ships of unknown size and unknown potential, with limited fighting capabilities due to the highly explosive gases all around them. Basically, they had just been reduced to a handful of sitting banthas. The question was: who were their mysterious adversaries and what did they want?

“Sir, a fighter just entered visual range. Putting on screen now,” the radar officer spoke up again. “It’s on an attack vector for the _Admonitor_ , sir,” she added hastily, her voice rising in pitch.

“Engage TIE Fighter Squadrons Alpha and Beta,” Niriz barked out sharply. “Their sensors may be useless, but they can still shoot that sneaky bastard down using their own eyes. Last time I checked, all our pilots passed the regular eye check.” 

“Belay that order,” Parck countermanded immediately, his eyes on the markings decorating the enemy fighter on screen. The vessel might have been unknown to the ship’s computers, but it hadn’t been unknown to him—or, more precisely, the _markings_ hadn’t: the calligraphy stood for the Expansionary Forces, a subdivision of the Chiss Defense Fleet.

“That’s exactly what they want us to do. Comm: All ships, do not engage the fighters. Repeat, do _not_ engage the fighters.”

“Sir?” the officer asked in confusion, but thankfully he relayed Parck’s orders without hesitation. The crewman didn’t have to understand as long as he obeyed.

“What’s going on, Admiral?”

Niriz narrowed his eyes in suspicion. He didn’t understand, either, but he knew Parck well enough by now that it smelled like one of the Grand Admiral’s schemes that Parck carried out from time to time.

It didn’t take a genius to guess when Parck acted on his own and when he was following Thrawn’s incredibly detailed walkthroughs, step-by-step, never deviating from his secret orders; no matter how illogical Thrawn’s plans might have sounded, they always fell into place in hindsight, as if Thrawn could truly read the minds of his enemies. Or, at least that’s how it looked to the casual observer. In reality, Thrawn’s strategies were anything but simple magic tricks.

The battle plans Parck had been given were incredibly detailed essays, listing all possible enemies’ movements; respective probabilities of the execution of said movements calculated down to double decimal points; the enemies’ weak points meant to be exploited; and the psychological responses meant to be exploited further, leading to utter defeat, all tailored to the limitations of Parck’s mind and Parck’s capability of executing Thrawn’s orders blindly based on faith.

Thrawn literally gave him a series of manuals on the enemies he wanted Parck to eliminate, and he had written it in terms that Parck would be able to follow. The only thing that mattered was that Parck executed those orders, for Thrawn’s predictions always came true.

Only today’s adversaries were definitely not mentioned in Thrawn’s manuals, which meant Parck was on his own.

Instead of wasting valuable seconds by explaining himself, he addressed the comm officer again: “Comm, broadcast the following message on all channels, all possible frequencies our enemy may pick up on.”

He took a deep breath and switched to Cheunh, trying his best to sound as calm and as professional as possible to the sensitive ears of the Chiss commanding officer.

[Chiss Ascendancy, this is a misunderstanding. We are not going to attack. Repeat, this is a misunderstanding: we are _not_ going to attack. We will lower our shields now to prove our intentions are not hostile.]

“Lower our shields, Lieutenant. Now.”

He noticed Niriz looking completely lost by now, lost and deeply uneasy. “Calm down, Captain. The fighter is definitely not going to attack. These are Thrawn’s people.” 

Chiss didn’t engage in pre-emptive strikes. However, while they would have never fired the actual first shot, the Chiss would have blasted them from the face of the universe had they fallen for the trap and let themselves be maneuvered into acting in what they had believed to be self-defense.

Parck wouldn’t fall for that trick.

His eyes fell on the fighter headed straight for the _Admonitor_ ’s bridge, flying closer and closer with each second, bigger and bigger, until he was able to take in the details of the fighter with his own eyes, the image of each barrel pointed at the now completely unprotected command superstructure engraving itself into his mind. The Chiss wanted him to believe that he was about to be blasted from the face of the universe. They wanted him to lose his nerves, to snap and order a full-blown attack, so they could either come closer with their ships and finish them off or ignite the nebula and let them be eaten by the infernal flames. Probably the latter.

Parck _definitely_ wouldn’t fall for the trick.

The fighter kept getting closer and closer; and then, exactly at the point of no return, the pilot made a sudden U-turn—somewhat inelegant, however, as if he had truly intended to destroy the unprotected bridge, and only his deeply engraved sense of duty and obedience had stopped him. To use the words of General Bittenfeld: ‘Damn the sly, red-eyed devil.’

Parck could hardly blame the man for snapping. He was _this_ close to falling for the trick was well.

The whole bridge let out a collective sigh of relief, with Captain Niriz breathing out the loudest, using his hand to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “With all due respect, sir, I’d appreciate if you informed me you were about to pull off one of Grand Admiral Thrawn’s parlor tricks beforehand.”

Parck cleared his throat, looking at the expressions on the faces of the crew who undoubtedly shared their captain’s opinion but were too polite to say so aloud, and he flashed them all a playful smile.

“Oh, this was one of my own, actually.”

[Unknown ships, identify yourselves immediately and state the nature of your business in this area of space,] a male voice barked out sharply in Cheunh from the main comm console.

[Chiss Ascendancy,] Voss Parck responded, leaning over the comm officer’s shoulder and putting as much commanding authority as possible into his tone. Chiss had to be approached from a position of strength and respect. They never dealt with weaklings, and they definitely wouldn’t talk to him if he sounded anything but professional.

[This is Vice Admiral Voss Parck, commanding officer of the Task Force Admonitor of the Imperial Navy, tasked with mapping hyperspace routes and charting regions of space unknown to the Galactic Empire. We are deeply sorry for trespassing. We had no idea that this area was being patrolled by Expansionary Forces.]

The Chiss on the other end of the line took a whole minute before he came back with a reply, his voice as sharp and as unfriendly as earlier. There was no trace of open loathing, of course. That would have been unprofessional. However, it must have been obvious even to the non-Cheunh speakers present that the Chiss wasn’t exactly overjoyed to talk to him.

[Force Commander Kres’ten’tarthi speaking. I find your claims questionable given the weapons of mass destruction aboard your ships, your knowledge of Cheunh, and your own respective rank, Admiral. Clearly you are a member of the Hierarchy among your kind.] He used the Chiss Defense Fleet equivalent for the High Command. Well, he was dead wrong about that one at least. Parck might be a member of the Admiralty, but that was still light years from the actual High Command. Still, the Chiss couldn’t have known that.

[It is my belief that your intentions are, in fact, hostile, and your weapons are to be used against my people.]

Parck suppressed an urge to sigh.

[While it is true we are equipped with weapons capable of mass destruction, we have no intention of using them against the Chiss Ascendancy. It is a misunderstanding. Please release us from the gravity well and let us go on our way. You have my word as a warrior that we will leave this area of space and never return.]

Another long pause, even longer than the previous one.

Clearly there must have been some sort of discussion taking place on the other end. In any case, Parck wasn’t speaking to the actual person in charge; while it was true that ‘ _Crahsystor_ ’—literally translated as ‘Force Commander’—didn’t have a clear rank equivalent in Galactic Basic, a deliberate provocation of a potential enemy into an attack would have to be approved and personally overseen at least by the Syndic whose House the commander belonged to. Only, the Syndic had no desire to talk to him directly; Parck would have get past this senior officer first.

[In that case, I presume you would be willing to clear the misunderstanding personally, coming alone and unarmed, surrendering your flag to us, submitting yourself to our questioning, and leaving the final decision to us. We will, of course, provide an armed escort to the ship where the interrogation shall take place. Are you capable of operating a vessel or do your require a pilot as well?]

Us. Plural. There was definitely a heated discussion taking place at the other end of the line. Could there be a member of the Hierarchy present? Or an Aristocra?

[I am capable of operating a vessel myself, thank you.] A little courtesy couldn’t hurt one bit, Parck supposed, using a grammatical clause that implied genuine gratitude.

[You have my word I shall come alone, unarmed, and bearing no harm to you or your people.]

[Very well. Kres’ten’tarthi out.]

After the comm went dead silent, Parck took Captain Niriz aside and translated the whole exchange for his second-in-command.

“You can’t be serious, Admiral!” Niriz exclaimed, his eyes widening in shock. “You can’t go there alone! Grand Admiral Thrawn has always had a way with words, sir, and apparently it’s a species trait. There is too much left unsaid here.”

He had to admit that the captain had a point. However, as the commanding officer, Parck was directly responsible for the lives of the men under his command, which left him with no choice but to accept the Chiss’s terms.

“I’m not exactly thrilled about the prospect either, Niriz, but the fact remains that we’ve stumbled on the Chiss Ascendancy’s backyard with a Star Destroyer. Four Star Destroyers. Of course they are angry. I’ll just have to convince them we are not here to start a war.”

Niriz blinked. “And how do you propose to do that, sir?” he asked skeptically.

“I don’t know yet, Niriz,” Parck admitted. “I’ll find a way.”

“It’s too dangerous, sir. The Chiss said there will be an interrogation.” Niriz’s expression hardened, and he crossed his arms in a negative stance. “If their idea of interrogation is anything like ISB's, then there won’t be much of you left once the questioning is over. You should have at least bargained for your own safety.”

“I don’t believe they would result to torture, Captain,” Parck countered, trying to sound more confident than he actually felt. If the Chiss truly believed the weapon arsenal aboard was to be used against the Ascendancy, then extracting information by force would make perfect sense.

“Not if I cooperate and answer their questions fully and truthfully. They are Thrawn’s people, after all.”

Niriz pursed his lips. “They’re basically holding us at gunpoint, sir; and in any case, even if you cooperate, you can’t tell them any military secrets.”

“Niriz, I know you mean well, but right now you’re not very helpful.”

Parck suppressed a shudder. He truly didn’t need a reminder of what could follow if the Chiss didn’t find his explanation to their satisfaction, both to the crew as well as to him personally. And Niriz was right, of course. Parck couldn’t disclose privileged information, which included questions about the Task Force Admonitor as well as about the organization of the Imperial Military in general.

“Let’s hope it won’t come to that.”

* * *

Due to the heavy interference, the transport shuttle’s navigation systems were as useless as outdoor equipment on Coruscant; the screen showed nothing but static, leaving Parck blindly following the Chiss fighter outside the _Admonitor_ ’s visual range deeper into the nebula, until he finally noticed a combat cruiser that must have been the source of the artificial gravity well. The size of the ship was similar to the old _Consular_ -class Republic cruisers, only it was armed to the teeth, equipped with what appeared to be missile launchers and laser turrets.

After he exchanged a few curt words with Chiss flight control, a female with an even sharper voice than that of the Chiss commander, he docked at one of the starboard-side airlocks and took a deep breath before he opened the airlock to the connecting corridor, preparing himself for a cold welcome consisting of multiple red-eyed glares.

He expected to be thoroughly searched and placed in restrictive binders upon setting foot aboard the interdictor cruiser, but he never even made it past the corridor. Immediately after his first intake of the recycled air, his head started spinning, his consciousness began slipping away, his body going numb; and the last thing he saw before he fell to the floor had been two black uniformed Chiss soldiers opening the airlock from the other side, wearing full-face masks with breathing filters.

Well, they wouldn’t have lured him here only to have him killed by a poisonous gas, that much was clear. However, it seemed he should have paid more attention to Captain Niriz. Obviously, the Chiss didn't feel like being good hosts today.

 

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	9. Meanwhile in the Unknown Regions (2/2)

**Title: Meanwhile in the Unknown Regions (2/2)**

* * *

 

When he came to, Parck found himself bound to a chair in a dimly lit room equipped with a long oval table; and at the other end of the table, sitting directly opposite to him, was a tall male Chiss dressed in a black tunic of the Chiss Defense Fleet with silver bars on the collar, identifying him as a ranking officer.

The said Chiss paid little attention to him. Instead, he was staring with open curiosity at the contents of Parck’s pockets: rank cylinders, a personal comm link, and a couple of datacards. Just like Parck expected, the Chiss had thoroughly searched him and presumably the whole shuttle as well, looking for a listening device or a homing beacon that might lead the Imperials to these coordinates (standard practice, currently inapplicable due to heavy interference—still, the Chiss decided to take no chances).

Good thing Parck carried neither. It would only make them even angrier.

[Commander Kres’ten’tarthi, I presume?] Parck asked the male Chiss who was now playing with his rank cylinder, examining the device from various angles and directions, pressing the tip to see if it functioned as some kind of writing instrument. Obviously, this was the first time the Chiss had ever seen a coded rank cylinder.

Then finally, the Chiss raised his eyes from the cylinder, placing it down on the table, the expression on his face clearly saying that he was none-too-impressed with the strange device or its apparent lack of any sensible function, and gave Parck a curt nod in acknowledgment.

[What is the function of this device?] the Chiss asked acerbically, pointing to the cylinder.

[It is called a coded rank cylinder,] Parck explained. It must have really bothered the Chiss that this was the very first question he asked.

[It carries a datachip with my personal identification and authorization codes, providing me with access to secure areas and terminals. All personnel are required to carry it with themselves at all times. I would appreciate it if you were careful with the device. There is too much bureaucracy involved whenever a rank cylinder gets broken or lost.]

Parck let out a deep sigh, trying to straighten up a little bit in the chair. The binders were tight and uncomfortable.

[And this is hardly necessary, Commander. I gave you my word as a warrior that I meant no harm. My word is my bond.]

Kres’ten’tarthi’s eyes narrowed fractionally. [I do not know you, Voss Parck, and I certainly do not trust you. You come equipped with deadly weapons, yet you claim your intentions are peaceful. You speak in oxymoron.]

Parck shook his head, not bothering to suppress any expressions on his face. The Chiss was clearly unfamiliar with humans, but hopefully he would be able to read Parck’s bodily reactions well enough to tell Parck was being sincere.

[Certainly, we have many deadly weapons aboard, Kres’ten’tarthi, but we do not plan to use them against the Chiss Ascendancy. I am telling the truth.]

The Chiss was now staring at him intently, studying him with his deep, red-eyed gaze, cataloging every single detail. [Against whom do you plan to use these weapons, then?] 

[There are many threats lurking in the shadows in the Borderlands,] Parck said neutrally, evading the direct question. [Not merely self-proclaimed warlords with delusions of grandeur.]

[You do not consider the Chiss to be one of these threats?] Kres’ten’tarthi raised a blue-black eyebrow.

[No.]

The Chiss leaned forward, studying him as if Parck was a complete, utter mystery to him. [What leads you to such a conclusion?] 

Parck took a moment to gather his thoughts.

[Chiss are a very insular species who hold little interest in the larger events on the galactic scale, and they don’t engage in pre-emptive strikes against potential threats outside their own sphere of influence. As long as Imperial Forces don’t make a move against the Chiss Ascendancy, I’m positive the Chiss pose no threat to the Galactic Empire.]

[Who taught you this?] Kres’ten’tarthi’s eyes narrowed further, his expression hardening. 

[Mitth’raw’nuruodo,] Parck confessed.

Kres’ten’tarthi’s eyes were now reduced to mere slits, his whole posture tense and intimidating.

[Mitth’raw’nuruodo is a well-known criminal, a mass murderer sentenced to life in exile. What makes you believe a word he says? Is he the one who taught you our language and our ways? Is he planning revenge against the Ruling Council?]

Parck swallowed hard, his throat going dry. His association with Thrawn was only making things worse. [Yes, he’s the one who taught me Cheunh, and no, he’s definitely not planning a move against his own people, Kres’ten’tarthi. On the contrary, he’s trying to protect them by eliminating the threats to the Chiss Ascendancy by making use of the Imperial Forces at his disposal.]

[Such as you.]

There was no way to deflect such a direct question without lying, and that would have made things even worse. [Yes. I have been tasked with mapping the hyperspace routes in uncharted space for the Galactic Empire, as well as eliminating the threats to the Chiss Ascendancy as per Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s wishes. His wish is my command. Which brings me to your original question.]

Parck took a deep breath before continuing. Now came the trickiest part. [I believe him because I am the first of the first of Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s Household Phalanx.]

Kres’ten’tarthi blinked, glowing eyes widening in shock. [You cannot be serious. What House does Mitth’raw’nuruodo represent? He has been stripped of all ranks and privileges, as well as of his allegiance to the Eighth Ruling Family. The only reason why he had been allowed to keep the name even in exile was to serve as a painful reminder of all the things he had lost.]

[House of Humans.]

Kres’ten’tarthi jerked in surprise, his face betraying pure, unadulterated shock on those icy blue features, the glowing eyes staring at him with such an intensity that Parck thought the Chiss brain might explode with outrage. It would have been funny had Parck not been at the mercy of said Chiss commander who clearly found the idea of a House accepting outsiders abhorrent.

[Explain,] the Chiss said when he finally found his voice, his tone purely professional again, his face once again calm and composed.

[It is my understanding that blood relations or contracts are not the only means of acceptance into a House. Elevation by merit is possible as well. Unless I am mistaken, Mitth’raw’nuruodo had been a commoner before he was accepted by the Eighth Ruling Family, ascending via adoption by merit. Mitth’raw’nuruodo merely decided to take it further by allowing humans into his own House.]

Kres’ten’tarthi’s face clearly said, _‘While going by his ascension name as a slap in the face of the Eighth Ruling Family?_

[So, Mitth’raw’nuruodo now speaks for all humans?] the Chiss said instead, not willing to discuss the audacity of Thrawn’s actions with an outsider. [Has he become the supreme leader among your kind?]

Parck felt a clarification was necessary. [No, he doesn’t speak for all humans, but his word carries considerable weight, for he has the ear of the Emperor, the one who _is_ the supreme leader among our kind. He succeeded in becoming a member of the ‘High Command,’ our version of the Defense Hierarchy. It is perhaps ironic that he ended up giving up his name and wearing a white uniform in the process.]

The revulsion was replaced by curiosity, at least. Kres’ten’tarthi slowly inclined his head. [Your customs seem similar to ours. What name does Mitth’raw’nuruodo go by now, then?]

[Thrawn.]

Kres’ten’tarthi jerked in surprise once again, and from the frown on that blue face he must have been deeply unsettled by the way an outsider was repeatedly able to throw him off balance. Or perhaps he was simply short-tempered by Chiss standards.

[ _Thrawn_?] the Chiss barked out, his voice as sharp as it had been during the original audio-only exchange. He must have been seething with anger.

[He goes by his _core_ name?]

Parck gave him a small smile. [Chiss names are unpronounceable to most humans as well as to other species. Mitth’raw’nuruodo prefers to be addressed by his core name rather than have his full name constantly mispronounced. Also, it is not the Galactic Empire’s custom to give up one’s affiliation upon ascension to the High Command.]

From what Parck understood, Chiss warriors gave up their affiliation once they became part of the Defense Hierarchy, resulting in a name free of any ties. Admirals of the Hierarchy coincidentally also wore pristine white uniforms, for white belonged to none of the Ruling Families. The black uniforms of ordinary Chiss warriors were differentiated by colored patches associated with whichever Family to whom that warrior belonged—black itself representing a combination of all colors.

Parck could see that Kres’ten’tarthi was trying to process the information through his Chiss brain, until finally he nodded in acknowledgment.

[Still, going by his core name …] the Chiss said incredulously. [I find it somewhat … unsettling. There are certain implications of familiarity involved with core names. I would have never permitted this.]

Parck suppressed a chuckle. If he allowed himself to display amusement so openly in front of a complete stranger, the Chiss would have dismissed him as a spoiled brat.

[With all due respect, Kres’ten’tarthi, you might change your mind if you ever hear your full name mispronounced by humans. The results are either offensive or awkward depending on the speaker’s accent. Mitth’raw’nuruodo had his reasons for going by his core name in the Galactic Empire.]

[Never.] Kres’ten’tarthi said in in a voice of durasteel, the glow of his red eyes once again gaining in intensity.

[I see.] Parck gave up trying to explain Thrawn’s reasoning further. It was useless.

[At any rate, while I understand that Mitth’raw’nuruodo is officially branded as a mass murderer, it is not a Chiss custom to transfer crimes committed by an individual onto other members of a House. I spoke the truth when I said I meant no harm to you or your people. My only goal is to seek out and destroy the dangers to the Galactic Empire, which coincidentally happen to be potential threats to the Chiss Ascendancy. We aren’t here to start a war, Kres’ten’tarthi. We are here to stop it.]

The Chiss was staring at him in sheer puzzlement, until Parck finally grew tired of the game. [Now, _Force_ _Commander_ , I would be very grateful if you would finally permit me to speak to the member of the Hierarchy or the Aristocra present. I might not be a member of the High Command myself, but I _am_ the commanding officer of the _Admonitor_ task force.]

Kres’ten’tarthi let out a deep sigh, giving him a long contemplative glance. [I couldn’t have permitted you to talk to the authorities even if I wanted to, as I am no longer associated with the Ascendancy in any official or unofficial manner.]

Parck blinked. [Excuse me?]

Kres’ten’tarthi drew his lips into a thin line. [Essentially, we are deserters. I and a group of likely minded warriors of all bloodlines could no longer stand how the ruling bodies of the Chiss Ascendancy do absolutely _nothing_ to protect our people from potential threats beyond our borders. Thus, we decided to take the matter into our hands, stealing a couple of ships and fighters, engaging in a hit-and-run, guerrilla-like campaign against the most immediate threats, those in our power to obliterate.]

_Wait… What?!_

[However, not long after we started patrolling the Borderlands, we witnessed the arrival of a new, completely unknown force, one that has shifted the balance of power in the area, equipped with weapons of mass destruction capable of subjugating whole star systems.] He held Parck with a knowing glance. [Yes, _you_. And after careful consideration, evaluation, and monitoring of all your activities, we came to the conclusion that your forces pose a far bigger threat to the Ascendancy than any warlord or crime syndicate in the area.]

Parck felt his jaw drop. Good thing he was sitting down already.

[For months, we have been watching you from the shadows, triangulating all your possible trajectories, and analyzing your past movements, until we realized that you intended to pass through the hyperspace lane close to this nebula to get to the vast natural resources in this area, providing us with a perfect opportunity for an ambush. It was the only chance we would ever get: a couple of old, battered ships and fighters pose no real threat against the giant warships under your command. We could never have engaged you in direct combat.]

_Corulag moons, four Star Destroyers got ambushed by a couple of old, battered ships..._

[However, using unconventional tactics, we pulled you from hyperspace directly into the heart of the nebula using an artificial gravity well. With the natural interference causing your ships’ sensors go blind and deaf, making it impossible for you to get exact readings on the size and the potential of your adversary or to pinpoint the exact location of the gravity well, and with your long range communications disabled, we had hoped to ignite the explosive gases using the fighter’s proton torpedoes, completely obliterating your task force without anyone’s knowledge. Since your ships come equipped with powerful shielding, the fighter had to get as close as possible for maximum destructive impact. The rest of our forces have been positioned beyond visual distance, waiting to finish you off in case your ships’ hulls withstood the damage.]

_I’ve invited him to take his best shot._

If Parck hadn’t been tied to the chair, he would have banged his head against the table. [You were the pilot.]

[ _‘The role of a warrior is to protect the Chiss people; the warrior’s own survival is of only secondary importance.’_ ] Kres’ten’tarthi quoted the Chiss warrior’s code in High Cheunh; Thrawn had once written down the code down for Parck as calligraphy practice material.

[It was my responsibility as their leader to obliterate your forces even at the cost of my own life. We may be deserters, but we do have a clear command structure. The Second would have continued in my stead.]

Parck gaped at the Chiss warrior. [Who came up with the whole plan? You?]

[No.] The Chiss shook his head. [It was a collective effort, and we also made use of Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s rather controversial, unconventional approach on warfare. Even among our kind, his intellect has always been considered exceptional. He was the youngest commander of the Chiss Expansionary Forces in history.]

The Chiss’s voice held a strange sense of melancholia, his eyes staring into the faraway distance.

[In order to determine whether an unknown faction poses a danger to the Chiss, the Expansionary Forces must first study them, observe them, learn everything there is about them; and if they come to the conclusion that they are a potential threat, they must exploit their weak points that can later be used against them in open warfare. Even with all of that taken into an account, we do not have the habit of making the first move. We attack only when provoked. Hence the name, Chiss _Defense_ Fleet.]

The Chiss’ face clouded in an emotion Parck couldn’t interpret, then he continued.

[The whole process usually takes months, sometimes years; however, Mitth’raw’nuruodo was able to do it after a careful study of the species’ artwork. His opinions on warfare, especially when it came to the concept of a pre-emptive strike, have always been controversial, a constant cause of discord between him, the Defense Hierarchy and the Council of Families. It was only thanks to Syndic Mitth’ras’safis he had been able to retain his rank and position for as long as he did, and after the Syndic’s death, there was nothing that could prevent his eventual descent.]

 _Syndic Mitth’ras’safis_? Parck never heard of the name before. Perhaps one day he could ask Thrawn...

[Still, there were those who considered Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s concerns to be valid. Despite this, not even their powers and connections could save him from the exile that had followed after he had committed an act of mass murder, a pre-emptive strike that had saved one of our protectorates from alien marauders.]

Kres’ten’tarthi let out a deep sigh in disappointment.

[I had expected at least Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s former commanding officer, Admiral Ar’alani, would have defended him. However, it was _she_ who suggested that a life in exile would be the most fitting punishment according to the Chiss criminal code. What a waste of a good warrior.]

The Chiss fell silent, his glowing eyes blazing with barely contained fury.

Parck cleared his throat. Something told him it would be better to change the topic entirely. Of all the Chiss out there, Parck had to run into a short-tempered one. The universe had a weird sense of humor.

[What made you stop the attack, Commander?]

Kres’ten’tarthi narrowed his eyes once again, looking at him with renewed suspicion. [Your transmission,] he snapped. [Or, more precisely, your Cheunh.]

[My _Cheunh_?]

[Yes. Your knowledge of Cheunh suggested a detailed knowledge of Chiss customs, a knowledge that could have been later used against my people, especially considering the weapons arsenal at your disposal. I lured you here for one single purpose in mind, Voss Parck: I needed to ascertain whether you truly were a member the Hierarchy among your kind or at least a high ranking official privy to military secrets. If so, then I would extract information about the so-called Imperial Navy by any means if necessary.]

[I see.] Parck’s heart skipped a beat. [Well, thank you for starting with a civilized discussion, I suppose, and not resorting to less pleasant methods right away.]

He took a deep breath. Kres’ten’tarthi might have been considered a vigilante, but still it seemed that he had retained some of the Chiss code of conduct. 

[Do you still intend to continue with your original plan? We are both fighting for the same thing, Kres’ten’tarthi. It would be in your best interest to release us. You may destroy the whole _Admonitor_ task force here and now. However, sooner or later, others will come and take our place, and they wouldn’t care twice about eliminating the threats to the Ascendancy. Not all humans are servants of Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo.]

The Chiss was staring at him, observing his bodily reactions, trying to read his stance, his body language, _anything_ that would help him to determine whether Parck was being sincere or not. Even if the Chiss had a lie detector at his disposal, it wouldn’t have helped him much, not when the device had no idea how to interpret the bodily reactions of an unknown species. And the Chiss certainly took his time, making Parck sweat and squirm in his seat until he was finally satisfied with his evaluation, slowly inclining his head.

[Very well, Vice Admiral Voss Parck. I accept your formal surrender under following conditions: You shall take us aboard your vessel; you shall provide us with shelter and nourishment; and finally, you shall take us to Mitth’raw’nuruodo, for we wish to serve him, too, as members of his Household Phalanx, and through him to serve the Chiss.]

Parck narrowed his eyes.

_Damn Chiss pride. He’s too proud to say it’s actually him formally surrendering his flag, begging for food and for a place to stay because he no longer has a home to return to. And that he needs our help._

[I accept your conditions and formally surrender my flag to you, Force Commander Kres’ten’tarthi.] Parck said aloud, letting it slide because he knew Chiss had no _‘pride before fall’_ saying. He’d fill the gap in his education soon enough.

[I hope you will be considerate with my crew in return and allow them to stay at their posts.]

The Chiss stood up and came over, unfastening his binders. [It is permissible. Your crew may remain at their posts under our direct supervision. We shall not interfere with your usual duties. In fact, we shall not interfere at all until we hear Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s counsel on the matter.]

* * *

“Welcome back, Admiral!”

Captain Niriz let out a sigh of relief as soon as his commanding officer stepped aboard the _Admonitor_ , accompanied by a tall male Chiss who was looking around the hangar bay, reminding him of a warrior assessing the capabilities of a potential threat, paying no attention to Niriz whatsoever.

“It took so long I was worried something went wrong, sir.”

“Well, Captain.” Parck shook his head and flashed him a warm smile. “It really depends on your definition of wrong, Niriz. The good news is: we’ve just escaped our deaths, _all_ our deaths, because it’d have been a massacre. The bad news is: we are about to have several hundred freeloaders who seem to be under the impression that they are now in charge. Don’t worry, we all are allowed to remain at our posts and perform our daily duties, for their commanding officer is very generous, indeed. By the way, he wishes to be addressed by his full name and his proper rank in Cheunh.”

Parck made a wide hand gesture, giving him a conspiratorial wink, as if he was about to make a dramatic revelation. “May I present: _Crahsystor Kres’ten’tarthi_.”

“Uhh, hello,” Niriz said awkwardly in Galactic Basic, waving his hand in a universal human gesture of greeting. He had no idea whether to salute or offer a handshake, and something told him that this one was definitely not a touch-friendly fellow.

“Crahsystor Kres’ten’tarthi,” he repeated the unfamiliar words, trying his best to mimic the breaks and the up-and-downs in the intonation.

The Chiss stood there, transfixed to his spot, as if frozen solid, unblinking, the pale blue face completely stunned. Niriz jerked, and he was about to ask what was wrong when he noticed the admiral grinning from ear to ear, quickly covering his mouth with a hand, clearing his throat, and wiping the smirk off his face with obvious effort.

“Stent,” the Chiss said finally after coming out of the strange trance, muttering a long intelligible sentence in Cheunh. The only thing Niriz recognized was Thrawn’s full name.

“What did he say, sir?” Niriz asked his superior, giving him a bewildered glance. If these Chiss truly planned to stick around, he’d have to finally open the Cheunh study materials he had closed after browsing through the first lesson, and the Chiss would have to start studying Galactic Basic.

“Ah, he said he now understands why Mitth’raw’nuruodo allowed humans to use his core name, Captain, and that he wishes to be addressed simply as Stent from now on.”

 

THE END


	10. All Roads Lead to Coruscant (1/3)

Crahsystor Kres’ten’tarthi meant it literally when he said the _Admonitor_ crew would be allowed to stay at their posts and continue in their usual duties under direct Chiss supervision and that the Chiss would not interfere at all until they heard Mitth'raw'nuruodo's counsel on the matter, for the Chiss simply stood there in silence, keeping guard on the bridge and in other strategic areas of the ship, such as the engine room, the hangars, or the armories. They watched over their human captives, observing them in their natural habitat, studying them without breathing a word aloud.

It was so ridiculous that Captain Niriz, a fine Core World gentleman, actually went over one day and offered a glass of water to a Chiss female soldier who had been standing there the entire alpha shift without a single movement—putting a Royal Imperial Guard to shame. In return, he had received a death glare, spilling the water in the process, because the Chiss woman had taken his action as a professional insult to her guarding abilities. Quite probably it had also been misinterpreted as innuendo given that Stent had actually broken his own silence over the incident later that evening, telling the captain to ‘cease and desist’ in heavily accented Basic.

Niriz, bless him, had only raised his hands in surrender and did not comment until Stent was well out of supposed Chiss hearing distance: _‘Chill, man. It’s just little bit of old fashioned Core World courtesy.’_

Crahsystor Kres’ten’tarthi was the weirdest and creepiest of them all.

While the other Chiss stood silently by the blast doors at the entrance to the bridge, Stent sometimes ventured down into the crew pit, spooking the crew by looking over their shoulders, watching what had been happening on the screens, and sneaking up on the crew at the most unfortunate moments, resulting in quite a few scares and loud exclamations. He never showed any interest in talking to anyone, including Parck; instead, his interest had been focused on the screens themselves. To use the words of the good old captain: this ship was haunted. Haunted by a silent, blue-skinned, red-eyed ghost.

They all had tolerated it because of their greatest respect for Grand Admiral Thrawn; the Chiss were, after all, his own people. But it was obvious to everyone, especially to the good old captain, that this was a proverbial ticking thermal detonator, and it was only a matter of time before it would blow up in their faces.

Sooner or later, a member of the crew would snap, and then all Nine Hells of Corellia would break loose; for no matter how open-minded a crew Thrawn had chosen for Parck in the first place, they were still Imperials and as such had the New Order drilled into their skulls. Chiss pride certainly didn't help the situation at all. Thus they all breathed a collective sigh of relief when one month later they reached Imperial Center, where Thrawn’s presence would be required for the Festivities taking place.

“All roads lead to Coruscant,” Parck said to no one in particular, ignoring the tall looming shadow behind him, who was watching the planet through the viewports from over his shoulder. “Ladies and gentlemen, I think we all can enjoy a well-deserved break for the last remaining days of the Festivities.”

However, Thrawn didn't respond to their hails, nor did Pellaeon for that matter. The _Chimaera_ 's current executive officer told them that both the admiral and the captain were located planetside and were unavailable for the moment. At this announcement, Stent’s pale blue features twisted sourly, as if he had bitten into a particularly unripe specimen of bruallki. He insisted that Parck take him planetside immediately. Had Parck refused, he would have gone down personally and taken the matter into his own hands. A lone Chiss warrior wandering aimlessly through the streets of Coruscant, lost in that ecumenopolis with an extremely rudimentary Basic vocabulary—no _kriffing_ way! That would have resulted in a freaking disaster. Under no circumstances would Parck allow him to go planetside alone. Which, of course, meant he would have to personally accompany him.

Well, at least Parck took consolation in the fact that apparently the Chiss found the whole situation much more uncomfortable than the humans did, and they were even closer to snapping. They just were much better at not letting their frustrations openly show.

Since Thrawn was not responding even to his personal comm frequency, there was only one possible explanation behind the silence: Thrawn had gone shopping for antiques, and he was not to be disturbed even in an emergency. That meant sooner or later he would have to drop by his old lodgings in order to catalog his newest findings and to decide which ones to keep in his apartment/warehouse and which ones to take aboard his flagship.

Thus Parck ventured planetside with Stent in tow, dressed up as a stormtrooper, and the two of them slowly made their way towards Thrawn’s apartment in the Officers’ District. Fortunately, the Chiss understood the need for the masquerade, although clearly he would have preferred the Death Trooper armor. He might have fooled anyone else by pointing out the advantages of the Death Trooper’s armor; however, Parck had spent enough time around Thrawn to see right through it: they both liked the armor because Death Troopers looked and sounded much cooler—pardon, _more fearsome_ —than ordinary stormtroopers.

They soon found the building where Thrawn had his apartment. As they drew near the main staircase, Stent suddenly stopped right in his tracks. He motioned for Parck to hide behind a corner as his hand gripped the blaster rifle more firmly. Parck immediately followed his lead, his hand going for the side arm he carried with him whenever he disembarked the ship, a habit he had adopted during his service aboard Thrawn’s flagship. Then his hold relaxed as he noticed what exactly had raised Stent’s concerns.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Thrawn approaching them, dressed in a long, black cloak, his face partially covered by a hood and his glowing eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. Well, Darth Fashionista image aside, Parck had to admit that Thrawn looked damn good in black.

And to his utter astonishment, Thrawn wasn’t alone. He had gone with an entire entourage, apparently: Pellaeon, Bittenfeld, Covell, Riza, a captain, and a lieutenant whom Parck didn’t recognize, all of them carrying Thrawn’s bags full of antiques, all of them looking rather exhausted.

Parck grinned. He could easily imagine how that shopping spree had gone, for he, too, had once made the foolish mistake of stumbling upon Thrawn after discovering the Chiss’ dangerous hobby of wandering through the Coruscant Underworld alone, looking for highly valuable collector’s items among the stolen goods sold there.

Even for Parck, it was too much—an experience he’d never been able to forget. The Chiss had spent a whole day choosing his masterpieces without a single break, turning Parck into his personal valet. Oh, he had taken the shopping bags from Parck whenever he had requested a short break, but they were returned as soon as Parck found him again, often at the same vendor, staring as always at the works of art. This time, he had _six_ personal valets, which of course meant he ended up buying six times more than usual. It must have been a real nightmare.

He suppressed a chuckle. Shopping for antiques with General Bittenfeld, of all people, the black sheep of the House? And who was the stray-looking young man wearing a lieutenant’s rank plate?

_Really, Thrawn? What comes next? Furry little lizards?_

[Who are they?] Stent asked, interrupting his musings, his Cheunh pronunciation sounding strange due to the filtered voice. [Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s personal valets?]

Parck groaned. [More members of his House,] he said aloud. _Only they have literally_ no _idea._ [Captain of his flagship, general of his ground forces, three senior officers, and a junior officer I don’t know.]

He pointed toward each one by one.

[They look like personal valets to me,] Stent insisted resolutely, the white mask slowly turning as he closely observed each human, no doubt assessing their fighting capabilities and calculating how much of threat they might pose.

_Keep it up and you’ll end up being a personal valet as well._

[Does Mitth’raw’nuruodo know we are here?] Parck inquired, impressed that Stent had recognized Thrawn so quickly. He had no idea how exactly it worked, whether Stent was able simply to see or hear people coming their way, or whether he was actually able to identify Thrawn as a fellow Chiss from this distance, possibly due to the body warmth differences that Chiss sight could detect. Ah, Parck was probably overthinking it. In any case, Stent had full body armor on him, meaning Thrawn wouldn’t be able to recognize him back even with his own enhanced sight. The Chiss could see through a different spectrum, not with x-ray vision.

[I think not. He seems preoccupied,] Stent said in a low tone of voice, the white helmet making it impossible to ascertain whatever was going on behind the pale blue face beneath it. [The others are definitely unaware of our presence. And I would prefer to keep it that way.]

[I am inclined to agree,] Parck admitted grudgingly. He couldn’t believe he actually agreed on anything with the pale blue wonder. [It would only raise unnecessary questions. Still, it’s a rather unexpected complication.]

[Explain.] The Chiss made it sound like a direct order.

_Come on, I’m an admiral. I don’t take orders from a crahsystor. Even if the rank has no real equivalent, you’re still basically a commander._

[Well, it depends on Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s mood. If they did nothing, he would take the bags from them and release them. If he thinks they deserve punishment, he will torture them a little.]

[Torture them? _How?_ ]

[With art.]

[Your words make absolutely no sense, human,] Stent said in a perturbed tone, and this time there was no doubt as to what expression was hidden beneath the mask.

[Do you have any interest in art, Kres’ten’tarthi?] Parck asked. He had always wondered whether Thrawn’s interest in art was a species trait or whether it was something that belonged to him exclusively. Perhaps now he was finally about to find out.

[None,] came the instant reply. [Why?]

Ah, so Thrawn was an odd fish even among his own kind. Well, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him, not really. One could hardly judge a whole species based on the interests of a single individual.

Even so, Parck grinned. _Interesting._ [Then imagine listening to a full night’s lecture about Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s favorite paintings.]

He hoped that would be self-explanatory enough.

The Chiss went completely still for a moment before replying: [I see your point.] And Parck could swear that under the white mask, Stent was giving him a disbelieving stare.

[While some Chiss take personal interest in art, Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s obsession with artwork has always been one of his many peculiarities. On the other hand, it helps him get into the mind of his enemies. Therefore, who am I to judge? Let us hope they did nothing to deserve the punishment. To me they already look like they are about to pass out.]

 _As if_ that _would have stopped Thrawn_ , Parck thought, but he refrained from voicing his opinion aloud. This particular Chiss didn’t need to know that on the day Parck had ended up spilling the beans to Thrawn that he had given COMPNOR a little info on his former subordinate, Senior Captain Thrawn had not only shown him his personal collection of art, suggesting the use of such knowledge to bore any future COMPNOR operatives to death; but he had also decided to punish Parck a little by boring _him_ to death, giving him a late night lecture about his favorite pieces. He described each piece in such detail that no matter how hard Parck tried, he eventually fell asleep; and when he finally woke up, it was early morning. As if that itself wasn’t mortifying enough, he had then found Thrawn meditating on a small balcony in the middle of the freezing winter weather, calmly watching the snow drift down slowly to the concrete, where it dissolved immediately upon contact with the balcony surface. Thrawn shrugged it off back then, simply saying that he had come from an ice world and that the main reason he turned on the heating in the apartment in first place was not for his own comfort but because the cold would have damaged the paintings.

Bringing himself back to the present, Parck saw that it seemed that either the entourage didn’t do anything deserving of punishment, or Thrawn actually took mercy on them. Pellaeon looked dead tired, and the rest didn’t appear much better. As they came closer on their way back, he could faintly hear them talking:

“ _And now, let’s go overwrite the horrible experience by drinking the most volatile syrspirit this planet has to offer_ ,” Bittenfeld’s roar could be heard even from a distance. “ _Covell! You know of any places that fit my idea of a disreputable establishment?!”_

“ _Ah, not really, sir_ ,” came Covell’s rather awkward reply. “ _I’ve never spent much time here at Imperial Center_.”

Parck could hear someone else’s voice, but it was too faint to make sense of what was said.

He couldn’t have missed Bittenfeld’s reply, though: “ _I’m not interested in your idea of fun, Dorja! I want to hit a bar, not sip expensive wine in a club for snobs_.”

Dorja? The name sounded strangely familiar, although he couldn’t place it with anyone in particular. They must have never met in person. Later he would ask Niriz if the name rang a bell…

“ _I might know of a few places_ ,” came Pellaeon’s rather sheepish admission. “ _I spent a couple of years on Coruscant during my youth, and as far as I know, some of the places I used to visit still exist_.”

Bittenfeld roared in laughter. “ _Really, Captain!_ _Who would have ever thought?!”_

Parck suppressed a smirk. Well, according to Niriz, Pellaeon had been a chick magnet once. The two used to hang out a lot in the past, Pellaeon picking up a lady to his liking and leaving the rest to Niriz, whose star career at Coruscant Defense Fleet went downhill soon after they had met each other. Therefore, it didn’t really come as a surprise to _him_.

Since there was virtually nothing to do in the Unknown Regions most of the time, and they were cut off from long range communication as well as from the holonet, Parck and Niriz often sat down in the Captain’s Ready Room and discussed various topics together. From time to time, Niriz even brought up the stories of his youth, which never failed to make Parck double over in laughter. 

“ _Covell! You coming?!”_ Bittenfeld roared again.

“ _Only if you share more stories about you and Lieutenant Thrawn_ ,” Covell exclaimed, letting out a high pitched sound. Oh dear. Those were the days when Parck had been in command over the blustering big mouth and the quiet manipulator. Given Bittenfeld’s lack of restraint or tact, they were in for a surprise! And most likely not just one. There were stories enough to create a holodrama on the two. Parck still couldn’t understand how either of them survived the incredible clash of fates. He hadn’t actually expected them to make it. He figured either one or both would ultimately concede defeat and come begging on their knees for mercy. Making the two forces of nature share a bunk was the cruelest form of punishment he could imagine at that time. Everybody had an evil streak, and Parck had just revealed the depth of his own.

“ _You kidding?! After today I’m making sure there is absolutely nothing left of the red-eyed devil’s commanding authority!”_ They all laughed loudly at that while passing Parck and Stent until they finally moved beyond human hearing distance.

[Savages,] Stent commented dryly after a while, presumably once he had become absolutely certain it wouldn’t raise their suspicions. How much he could understand from the actual exchange was unknown. Still, he could easily get the message given the tone and color of Bittenfeld’s voice. One didn’t need to be a Chiss to read through Bittenfeld.

[Such fraternization is unheard of among Chiss warriors of different ranks. Extremely unprofessional.]

Parck rolled his eyes, biting his tongue from saying anything aloud. [Let’s go. I want this nightmare to finally be over.]

 

**TO BE CONTINUED**

 


	11. All Roads Lead to Coruscant (2/3)

Author’s Note: There is no official mention as to which of the Ruling Families Stent belonged, therefore I decided to come up with my own theory. Feel free to disagree, however, I think it makes an interesting plot twist, and that it adds another layer to Thrawn & Stent dynamics.

**Title: All Roads Lead to Coruscant (2/3)**

* * *

 

“Vice Admiral Parck,” Thrawn said in Basic, the glowing gaze briefly flickering between Parck and the stormtrooper, looking for any sign of tension or distress in Parck’s posture and any kind of suspicious behavior from the masked man. There was no reason for Parck to suddenly drop in unannounced in the company of a stormtrooper. He couldn’t blame Thrawn for thinking he might have been taken hostage.

Especially since as far as Stent was concerned, Parck _was_ supposed to be a hostage. A hostage with a sidearm. Damn Chiss pride…

“Grand Admiral,” Parck replied in the same language, simply waving a hand in the direction of his company, skipping all pleasantries or the usual formalities, although a part of his mind was wondering what the masked Chiss thought about the highly irregular exchange.

“You may come in, Admiral Parck,” Thrawn reassured him, the red eyes now solely focused on the white armored trooper. “As usual, I have placed all listening devices on a loop upon my arrival at Imperial Center and have double checked that they have not been tampered with since my departure this morning. The apartment is secure.”

He opened the door wide for them to enter.

Parck let out a sigh in relief. Explaining the insidious schemes of Imperial Center to Stent was the last thing they needed right now. He might have gotten the wrong picture; or worse, he might have gotten the correct one, and then nothing would have stopped him from taking over the _Admonitor_ and ramming it into the Imperial Palace to eliminate the potential threat to his people.

[Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo,] Parck said respectfully, switching to Cheunh as soon as the doors closed and locked behind them, motioning to the masked Chiss to remove his helmet.

[Allow me to introduce Force Commander Kres’ten’tarthi.]

Thrawn stared at the other Chiss with a mixture of curiosity and mild bewilderment. [In the name of all who serve the Chiss, I greet you, Commander Kres’ten’tarthi,] Thrawn said, reciting the Chiss formal greeting. [Enter in peace, and with trust.]

He then gave Stent a curt nod.

[I accept your greeting, and greet you in return, Mitth’raw’nuruodo,] Stent responded in kind, bowing his head low, and Parck almost did a double take at the sudden humility in the otherwise oh-so-superior voice.

[I wish I could say I came begging your forgiveness on behalf of all Bintrano. However, the truth is I no longer answer to the Fifth Ruling Family, or to the Defense Hierarchy for that matter. I am nothing but a rogue warrior and a servant without a master.]

[I see,] was all Thrawn said, yet those two words carried a hidden meaning, a depth of a magnitude Pack couldn’t even begin to imagine.

[Then perhaps it would be for the best if we discussed the events that led to your decision to leave the Ascendancy over a cup of tea.] Thrawn suggested, motioning them to follow him to the main room. 

[I must warn you, Kres’ten’tarthi, that while the color and smell of the liquid is very similar to _chai_ , the taste is nothing alike,] he added before he disappeared to the kitchenette, leaving them alone for a few minutes. 

Thrawn’s apartment looked more like a storage room or a warehouse. The only gesture to the living occupant was a low table and a pair of armchairs in the living room.

Stent ignored the armchairs, opting instead to settle down on the floor, kneeling on his knees and folding his legs beneath him—a very uncomfortable position that would make his legs inevitably hurt after a while, especially in the stormtrooper armor. Parck shrugged. He was no longer twenty years old. He didn’t care if taking a chair made him look like a weakling in Stent’s eyes. Thrawn never required him to sit in such a manner. In fact, he had never seen Thrawn sitting in that position before.

Was it a Chiss habit or just a Stent thing?

A few moments later, Thrawn returned carrying a tea tray with three cups and a small kettle. He offered the cups to them first then sat down opposite them in the exact same way Stent had, putting on his best Chiss face. So it was a Chiss habit.

Parck briefly considered assuming a similar position, but he discarded the idea immediately. Who knew how long this conversation would take? It would only make his legs go wooden, and then he really would have to take the chair, which would make him look even more pathetic.

[This is one of the few blends to my liking,] Thrawn explained to Stent as he rotated the cup in his hands. [Very different from the tea found aboard the ships of the Imperial Navy. Unfortunately, I have neither the _chai_ powder nor the equipment necessary for the proper ceremony.]

Stent raised the cup to his lips, taking a tentative sip, presumably savoring the liquid on his tongue, before saying, [The taste is permissible. Thank you for your hospitality, Mitth’raw’nuruodo.]

Thrawn took a sip as well.

While it could hardly be called a ceremony, both Chiss were holding the cups in a manner that reminded Parck of an ancient ritual, sipping it in a way very different from how Coruscanti nobles drank their tea. Parck blinked. He couldn’t remember Thrawn ever being so regal in front of him, or any other human for that matter. It was rather shocking to realize that while the whole time the crew had thought Thrawn had been behaving cold, reserved, austere, punctual, and even borderline pedantic, he had actually been very casual and relaxed around humans.

[And now,] Thrawn broke the silence after they all finished their first cup of tea, pouring them each another one, [if you are finally willing to share the reason behind your departure, Kres’ten’tarthi.] 

Stent’s eyes darted between Thrawn and Parck. This was Thrawn’s apartment. He couldn’t possibly ask that Parck leave. Nevertheless, it was more than apparent that he wanted Parck gone for the conversation. Thrawn, on the other hand, chose to disregard the unspoken request; thus Parck remained sitting in the armchair, quietly observing the two Chiss.

[Of course, Mitth’raw’nuruodo,] Stent finally said in a smooth, cultured voice, but the tension in his posture left little room for interpretation; he really wanted to have this conversation in private.

Still, he proceeded, repeating most of what he had said to Parck earlier, explaining how disappointed he had been with the Chiss Ascendancy’s official stance on warfare and with their lack of any sensible action against the potential dangers beyond the Chiss sphere of influence. He mentioned that he had seen some of the threats whose description matched those in Thrawn’s essays, but he had been powerless to stop them. Therefore, he decided to take the matter into his own hands, publicly distancing himself from the Ascendancy and employing hit-and-run, guerrilla-like tactics, engaging at least the most immediate threats to the Ascendancy, those in his power to annihilate.

Thrawn said nothing the entire time, only listening, quietly sipping his tea, his face calm and impassive. Parck would have bet his rank plates that the face remained unreadable even to the other Chiss; whatever was going on inside Thrawn’s head was impossible to tell.

Stent also mentioned how Thrawn’s trial had led to a long, extremely heated discussion on the Non-Aggression Law policy, furthering the distance between the Defense Hierarchy and the Council of Families until Admiral Ar’alani, Thrawn’s former commanding officer, finally put an end to it by suggesting a life in exile.

And absolutely nothing had changed since that day. The Chiss Ascendancy kept pretending the threats all around them did not exist, and the Chiss Defense Fleet kept polishing their useless weapons, until Kres’ten’tarthi finally snapped and told them all he had had _enough_.

[However, not long after we started patrolling the Borderlands, we witnessed the arrival of a new, completely unknown force, one that has shifted the balance of power in the area, equipped with weapons of mass destruction capable of subjugating whole star systems. We came to the conclusion that their forces posed a far bigger threat to the Ascendancy than any warlord or crime syndicate in the area...]

Stent had finally gotten to the part where they had ambushed the Task Force  _Admonitor_ , telling Thrawn how they had been watching them for months from the shadows, using an approach that would have put Imperial Security Bureau field operatives to shame. He described how they decided on ambushing the fleet in the nebula once they realized Parck was planning to establish a self-sufficient base of operation in the sector, believing it to be the first step in setting up a kingdom or an empire of his own.

[And after we boarded the Destroyer of Stars,] Stent opted for the literal translation of the name rather than using the actual Basic word, [we realized its firepower could indeed be used to protect our people if the words of your human servant were to be trusted. Therefore we decided to further study their technology, observing them at their work stations while learning their language so we could have easily taken over the ship had there been the slightest hint of betrayal.]

Stent spoke in a very matter-of-fact tone, as if he was talking about the weather, not about starting up another bloody massacre.

[Wait a moment,] Parck interrupted the long monologue, getting a disapproving frown from the Chiss. Yeah, he got the message; he was being rude. Whatever. The Chiss was casually talking about killing him and his whole crew!

[Just how were you planning to take over the Star Destroyer with a few hundred warriors? There are more than forty _thousand_ Imperial soldiers aboard!] 

It would have turned into a _slaughter_.

Stent lifted an eyebrow, the arrogance clear in his expression.

[I expected you of all people would find it obvious, considering your earlier visit aboard the interdictor cruiser, Voss Parck. We would have used a toxic gas spread through the central ventilation system during the middle of a night-time rotation. As for your soldiers, only the Death Troopers would have posed a serious problem. An in-depth analysis of the stormtrooper armor revealed that the helmets protect their bearers only from smoke, not toxins. Obviously, the designers of the armor must not have been right in their minds.]

Stent made a derisive sound, dismissing the technology as inferior in his eyes.

Parck winced.

Captain Niriz had kept tabs on the pale blue wonder and his warriors for security purposes, of course, monitoring all their movements and their access to the computer network. Still, it seemed that the Chiss found a way to get their hands on some stormtrooper armor without anyone’s knowledge. Niriz would be seething with anger had he heard this.

[I am inclined to agree,] Thrawn said in a slightly amused tone, a corner of his lips twitching. [It is one of the reasons why I prefer the Death Troopers to accompany me as my bodyguards. Their armor is superior in many ways, and there is, of course, a certain psychological effect associated with the name as well as with the color itself. In human culture, black symbolizes death.]

Among the Chiss it was a symbol of unity, for black was a combination of all colors, since the military drew from all bloodlines.

[Overall, it strongly discourages any potential enemies from an attack. Fear has proven a very persuasive factor when dealing with humans. The design of their armor and of their ships has been specifically chosen to elicit fear in order to keep their subjects in line. However, a major human failing is an over-reliance on fear.]

Stent frantically shook his head up and down. [Yes, we have reached the same conclusion. Regardless, the Death Trooper armor bears all the marks of fine craftsmanship.]

 _Corulag moons_ , they had better get a whole new shipment of Death Trooper armor before they head back to the Unknown Regions. It seemed to be the Chiss’ newest favorite plaything. Their glowing eyes were literally gleaming.

Well, at least not _all_ Imperial technology was considered inferior in Stent’s eyes.

Now, back to one tiny little detail.

[I can’t believe you’ve been planning to kill us the whole time,] Parck pouted, crossing his arms accusingly. Thank whatever higher power in the universe for the Non-Aggression Law; otherwise, the galaxy would have been a very different place by now.

Stent made a disdainful sound. [Like I said before, Voss Parck, I do not know you, and I certainly do not trust you. Had you exhibited the slightest hint of betrayal, I would have killed you and your crew without remorse. However, you stood up to the conditions of your surrender; therefore, I saw no reason to proceed with the plan.]

Now it was Parck’s turn to snort. [Conditions of my surrender... I merely let you believe you had been in charge the whole time. By coming aboard the _Admonitor_ , the roles reversed and it was _you_ who placed yourself at my mercy.]

Stent drew himself up a little straighter. [I believe I have just mentioned that it had been in my power all along to kill everyone aboard with minimal casualties on my side. We could have easily taken over the Destroyer of Stars.]

Parck opened his mouth to spit out a few mean words, but their argument was interrupted by a small cough coming from the other Chiss in the room.

[Kres’ten’tarthi, Voss Parck,] Thrawn admonished them both sharply, setting his cup back on the table with more force than necessary.

[This is conduct unbecoming of warriors. Now, would either of you please explain to me the reason for holding such a petty personal grudge?]

Parck winced. The chastisement felt like the rubbing of salt into a wound. He shook his head and let Stent take the initiative. He would only make himself look even more unprofessional by allowing his personal feelings to seep into his voice.

Still, as Stent began describing the one month of silent treatment aboard the _Admonitor_ , not allowing any color into his voice as he simply stuck to the facts, he told how the Chiss had kept careful watch over the human crew and how they had been aware of being watched and spied upon by the humans in return. Parck could see Thrawn’s face becoming more and more unreadable, as if carved from pale blue marble—the best sabbac face in the universe, he had to admit—the red eyes giving off a soft, dim glow; his posture straight, not rigid but carefully controlled; all signs that Parck had come to associate with amusement which Thrawn did not wish to openly display.

Parck felt his cheeks grow warm with embarrassment, wondering whether Thrawn would miraculously produce the ‘moron of the year’ pin from his pocket and split it in two, or whether Thrawn would actually snap and engage in something very undignified, such as laughing aloud at their stupidity. Frankly, he didn’t know which would have been more mortifying, although probably the latter.

[Thank you, Kres’ten’tarthi, for providing me with all the necessary data to draw an accurate conclusion,] Thrawn abruptly cut him off, a corner of his lips quirking up.

_He is close to snapping._

[Now, let’s finally get to the point.] Thrawn’s tone became all business once again. [You mentioned being a rogue warrior without a master, Kres’ten’tarthi, and you expressed an interest in using the Star Destroyers to protect the Chiss people from potential threats. Are you willing to accept me as your new master, becoming a member of the Mitth’raw’nuruodo Household Phalanx?]

Stent gave him a deep bow, all superiority and arrogance gone in an instant. [I live only to serve you, Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo, and through you to serve the Chiss. I shall dedicate the rest of my life to your cause, wearing the colors of your House with pride.]

The way he recited the words reminded Parck of yet another ancient ritual. Then the Chiss hesitated for a brief moment, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his steady voice.

[What are they, by the way? Still burgundy red?]

Thrawn slowly inclined his head. [Yes, for red is the color of the blood of both Chiss and humans,] he said in a deceptively mild tone.

So this was a test of character. And Stent’s fate depended on what he was about to do or say next.

[It is a symbol of what I am trying to accomplish: a true alliance between our species, a genuine partnership that would obliterate the threats posing danger not only to the Chiss Ascendancy but to the beings of the galaxy as well. Now, I ask you again, Kres’ten’tarthi, are you _still_ willing to accept me as your master?]

For a moment, Stent simply sat there, unmoving, unblinking, completely stunned; the Chiss totally didn’t see that coming, and as the seconds passed, Parck became worried that Stent would actually refuse and walk away. Then finally, the Chiss found his inner equilibrium and lowered his eyes, the expression on his pale blue face one of utter defeat, acceptance of the inevitable.

[Yes, Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo. Your wish is my command. I shall dedicate the rest of my life to your cause. If it is your wish, then I will even submit my command authority to Vice Admiral Voss Parck.]

Thrawn shook his head.

[No, Kres’ten’tarthi. I wish you to be each other’s equals. Therefore, I am proposing a shared command: You, Kres’ten’tarthi, shall become the guardian of the House, the actual Commander of the Household Phalanx, which will be run according to Chiss custom, though any outsiders are, of course, welcome to join. And you, Voss Parck, shall remain in overall command of the Imperial Forces in the Borderlands. You shall heed each other’s advice and come to each other’s aid whenever necessary.]

Stent bowed his head and neck as low as the armor plates allowed. [Your wish is my command, Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo,] he repeated in high Cheunh.

It took all Parck’s effort not to openly gape at the meek and mellow Chiss next to him. He cleared his throat, wiping the astonished expression from his face, and repeated Stent’s words. [Your wish is my command, Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo.]

Thrawn rewarded them both with a long, deep stare, until he finally tipped his head, an expression of satisfaction clear on the pale blue features. [Excellent. May warrior’s luck smile on your efforts,] he said, echoing the Chiss warriors’ saying.

[And now, Commander Kres’ten’tarthi, I wish to speak with my human servant in private. Later, I shall come aboard the _Admonitor_ and speak with you and your warriors. There are some things that need to be addressed.]

Stent looked relieved to be dismissed, getting up in a single fluid motion and giving him one last, deep bow. Then he marched away, putting on the helmet before opening the door and closing it softly behind him.

Thrawn waited motionlessly for a couple of seconds, presumably until Stent walked out of Chiss hearing range, before turning his attention to Parck.

[There will no further problems from Commander Kres’ten’tarthi,] Thrawn declared in a voice of durasteel, slowly rising to his feet, coming over to the chair and sitting down comfortably.

[Now that he has a master to obey, he will follow my orders without hesitation. We should be able to avoid any rash decisions he may make on his own.]

Parck still couldn’t believe what just transpired. No matter how hard he tried, the words simply refused to come to his mind. Thrawn managed to subdue the pale blue wonder and sway him to his side without so much as raising his voice, using the strength of his character as his only weapon of choice.

“Now, about the events that transpired aboard the _Admonitor_...” Thrawn said lightly in Basic, leaving the sentence hanging in the air, a soft smile finding its way to the pale blue lips.

Parck actually flinched.

“What can I say, sir? Imperials never surrender, and Chiss don’t submit to dominance. It was a stale mate. Captain Niriz deserves a commendation, sir. I would have thrown Kres’ten’tarthi and his bunch out of the airlock had I been the captain,” he admitted bitterly.

Thrawn raised an eyebrow, his head tilting to a side. “You, Voss Parck?”

Parck’s cheeks reddened in shame. “Yes, _me_ , because even my patience has its limits, and Kres’ten’tarthi has been driving me crazy for a whole month.” 

The Chiss continued observing him, a small smile still on his lips and his glowing eyes sparkling with internal amusement. Obviously, Thrawn found the whole notion entertaining, looking now as relaxed as Parck had ever seen him, indulging in amusement at Parck’s expense.

Parck released a deep sigh, recalling the name that had caught his attention during his initial conversation with Stent, curiously the only thing Stent didn’t mention today. There probably would never be a better chance to ask such a question. Even after all these years, Thrawn was as tight-lipped as a Chiss when it came to topics of a personal nature.

[If it is permissible to ask,] he began cautiously in Cheunh, using a grammatical clause signaling a question of personal nature was about to follow, [who was Syndic Mitth’ras’safis, by the way?]

Thrawn’s small smile literally froze on his lips, turning suddenly hard and brittle, all sign of amusement gone. The flash in his eyes sent a shiver down Parck’s back.

It would seem he had made an error in judgment.

 

**TO BE CONTINUED**

 

_Pellaeon shook his head. "No. Only the past. Everybody has a past that sooner or later comes back to haunt them..." He meant it as a general statement, not really a joke at himself or at the other man in the room. Therefore it came as a shock to him when the Chiss startled, his perfect facade cracking for an instant, the red eyes widening. And then it was gone, vanished as abruptly as it appeared. (Witch Hunt)_


	12. All Roads Lead to Coruscant (3/3)

**Title: All Roads Lead to Coruscant (3/3)**

Author’s Note: Contains major spoilers for _Star Wars: Outbound Flight._

* * *

Thrawn’s eyes narrowed dangerously, his posture rigid and wary as he eyed Parck like a predatory beast that had been cornered, ready to strike at the slightest provocation.

Parck startled, his own eyes widening in a shock.

 _Corulag moons, what just happened? What did I say?_ He ignored the tingling sense of danger that made his heart beat twice as fast as normal, sitting there without a single movement, waiting, observing the cornered predator until he eventually calmed down. At last, the atmosphere in the room changed from downright hostile to merely tense.

[Where did you hear that name?] Thrawn said finally, his voice cold as ice. The harshness in his tone would have put Stent to shame, all familiarity gone in an instant.

[Kres’ten’tarthi mentioned the name during our initial conversation,] Parck answered truthfully, completely baffled as to what could have triggered such a strong emotional reaction from Thrawn.

[He spoke of the name only, giving no clear indication as to who exactly Syndic Mitth’ras’safis had been. However, I assumed, based on the name, he might have been a ranking relative of yours.]

[It is hardly appropriate of a servant to ask his master questions of personal nature,] Thrawn hissed, a startlingly reptilian sound, the glowing eyes blazing with inner fire.

_I see._

Parck felt his body go numb, and he let out a deep, disappointed sigh. He had thought... Well, whatever. It hardly mattered what he had thought.

[Of course, Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo. I beg your forgiveness. It shall never happen again.]

Silence.

The tense atmosphere in the room was almost palpable. The Chiss continued observing him, unmoving, unblinking, simply staring and cataloging Parck’s every single reaction. Clearly, Syndic Mitth’ras’safis must have been someone of utmost personal significance to Thrawn. Otherwise, he never would have reacted as strongly as he just did.

[He was my own brother,] Thrawn said, finally breaking the long silence, his voice tainted with an inner pain. Pain, and something else—something Parck had never heard in that voice before, impossible to interpret.

Parck cleared his throat, lowering his eyes.

[I fully realize I am overstepping my bounds again, and that I am about to negate what I have just said, but you can talk to me, Thrawn. I know you never will, but I want you to know the offer is open.] He addressed him by his core name for the first time in Cheunh. He wished he could say he was making a calculated risk, but he wasn’t, since there was literally nothing to lose at this point. 

He had addressed Thrawn by his core name in Basic many times in the past, but that didn’t count. Not really. Just like it didn’t count for Stent either. What mattered was they addressed each other the proper way in Cheunh. There was a sense of familiarity associated with core names, and Thrawn and Parck never could have been in the position and social standing necessary to have each other addressed by core names in Cheunh. Particularly since they had become master and servant.

[Nothing can _ever_ change the fact I have accepted you as my master. I decided to dedicate the rest of my life to your cause, Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo. I live only to serve you.] 

The Chiss let out a deep, contemplative sigh, and with the sigh, the rigidity in his posture finally disappeared.

Thrawn then crossed his arms and drew his lips into a thin line. [It makes a rather difficult topic for conversation considering I played an enormous role in Thrass’s demise.] 

Parck could feel a creeping chill in his gut.

 _He didn’t... Of course he_ didn’t _, he’s just testing me, wondering whether I jump straight to a conclusion like everyone else. And he’s clearly blaming himself for whatever happened to his brother_.

[Judging is acting on limited knowledge,] Parck said, repeating the ancient Chiss saying, not falling for the trick. Really, Thrawn knew everything about him, and he had accepted him anyway. Of course Parck would be willing to do the same for him in return.

[You can tell me what happened, Thrawn. It is not my place to be judgmental.]

Thrawn slowly inclined his head.

[I had been a commander of the Chiss Expansionary Forces when I encountered an unknown vessel consisting of a crew of three Corellian smugglers whom I ended up taking prisoner.] He broke off there, the corners of his lips twitching in amusement. [And no, I had not treated them the same way Kres’ten’tarthi treated your crew. To the contrary, I was very amicable from the very beginning. I even offered to teach them some Cheunh and Minnisiat, as well as promising a generous compensation for their respective time teaching me Galactic Basic.]

Parck chuckled. [I wonder if every encounter between Chiss and humans has to end up in imprisonment.] His expression turned deadly serious then. [Your main mission objective was to determine whether they posed a threat to the Chiss Ascendancy, I assume. Or rather, whether the major galactic governing body at that time, the Republic, did.]

[Gathering intelligence on potential dangers certainly falls within the purview of the Expansionary Forces.] Thrawn gave a light shrug, not bothering to hide the fact. [Though I quickly took a liking to my prey, for they proved to be most curious companions: stubborn; reckless; irresponsible; pestering me with questions of a personal nature; and of course, as you can easily imagine, their first attempts at speaking Cheunh proved to be highly entertaining.]

Parck gave him an honest laugh. [Frankly, I’m surprised you were interested in meeting more.]

Thrawn shrugged again, his face impassive. The comment might have amused him, yet clearly he wasn’t about to go as far as to exchange human jokes. Or perhaps he was serious. Perhaps Thrawn truly _was_ a predator who took a liking to his prey, his original intention being simply to use them.

[Eventually, we were confronted by one of my enemies at that time,] Thrawn continued, [a nomadic race of slavers called the Vagaari, who used their captives as living shields during combat situations. Unfortunately, they were too clever to make a direct move against the Ascendancy, but it should have been obvious even to the blind and deaf that one day they would eventually become a threat. They had to be eliminated before that happened. As usual, the Defense Hierarchy and the Eight Ruling Family disagreed with my professional assessment, choosing to disregard my warnings and even going as far as to send the Syndic of the House, my own brother, in an attempt to put me back in line.]

An exasperated sigh escaped his lips.

[Thrass believed to be acting in my best interest by reporting back on my actions, becoming a pawn in the political schemes among the Ruling Families and playing right into the hands of the Fifth.]

The Fifth?! Parck jerked, shooting a glance at the direction of the door. Could _that_ have been the true reason why there had been so much humility in his voice in the beginning? Could have he been somehow involved in the political scheme?

 _I wish I could say I came begging your forgiveness on behalf of all Bintrano, however, the truth is I no longer answer to the Fifth Ruling Family, or to the Defense Hierarchy for that matter. I am nothing but a rogue warrior and a servant without a master,_ Stent had said. 

After Parck became the founding member of the Phalanx, Thrawn finally explained some of the Chiss customs and conventions. Even so, of the inner workings of Chiss society, including the organization of the Ruling Families, Parck knew virtually nothing.

[Soon after a skirmish with the Vagaari, the Picket Force under my command, consisting of three cruisers and nine heavy fighters, stumbled upon another enemy.]

Thrawn made a dramatic pause, a mischievous spark appearing in his eyes.

[A task force of the Trade Federation: two _Lucrehulk_ -class battleships, six armed _Hardcell_ -class transports, and seven Trade Federation escort cruisers, with three thousand Vulture droids on board in total.]

Parck inhaled sharply. [Corulag moons...]

Thrawn flashed him an evil smirk. [Ah, you misunderstand, Voss Parck. I utterly destroyed them without a single casualty on my side, sparing only the flagship because I needed to find out the reason for their trespassing upon the Chiss space with an invasion fleet.]

Parck blinked. [But... _how_?]

Thrawn gave him a small shrug. [Easily. By using their own weakness against them. Once I realized that the droids had a limited range due to their reliance on computer control, and given the sheer number of the fighters, there could be only a limited number of command sequences used. I ordered my ships to pull back, and then I played the game of a hide and seek with them, giving out the same order again and again until Chiss computers were able to hack into their interface, broadcasting a modified signal to the droids, causing them to fly aimlessly into deep space.]

Parck snickered. Oh yeah, this was Thrawn at his finest. The expression on the face of the enemy commander must have been priceless.

[And then I could finally proceed with an actual attack. The enemy didn’t stand a chance, Voss Parck. I simply initiated full spectrum jamming, thus disabling communication with the fighters, and then blasted the helpless fighters to pieces, causing debris to block the laser communications that the flagship was using to restart the fighters. The other capital ships in the task force began to attack at this time.]

[Ah, I can understand now,] Parck conceded. [But how were you able to eliminate the capital ships? Or why did the enemy commander not issue an order to retreat?]

[Chiss ships come equipped with shock nets, a missile-launched weapon that unfurls into a wide swath of highly charged gossamer material. When it hits a ship, it discharges, shorting out any operative systems and leaving the ship stranded in space. It is very similar to the Conner nets used here, although much bigger in size, about one kilometer wide.]

[Ah, what a nasty little surprise,] Parck murmured under his breath. [So you used the Conner nets to disable the missiles as well as the capital ships. And then you destroyed them one by one, sparing only the flagship. Still, why didn’t they simply pull back?]

Thrawn shot him another evil smirk. [Oh, they tried, but they had been unable to engage the hyperdrive since one of the ships under my command was a cruiser equipped with a gravity well projector that I had previously obtained from the Vagaari.]

Parck threw back an evil smirk of his own. [Ah. The enemy commander must have been crushed. Interdictor technology had not been known to the Republic back then.]

Thrawn lifted a blue-black eyebrow. [He was certainly out of his element, yes. Still, he recovered rather quickly. After I came aboard his ship, we had a serious talk about the real reason behind his visit, which happened to be annihilation of a vessel named _Outbound Flight_. This vessel carried six Jedi Masters, twelve Jedi Knights, and fifty thousand men, women, and children on a mission to contact intelligent life and colonize undiscovered worlds beyond the known galaxy.]

Parck blinked. [Ah, I think I’ve heard of the name...]

 _Outbound Flight_ had been intended to reach other galaxies. However, no one seemed to hear about the progress of the expedition once it passed the Republic’s borders. As if it had disappeared into thin air. Or had been destroyed.

[I take it that, despite his defeat, the enemy commander managed to escape your captivity and destroyed _Outbound Flight_ somehow in the end,] he speculated in a low voice. Was that the true reason? Had Thrawn never wanted him to know that even with all his tactical genius he had failed to prevent the escape that lead to slaughter?

Thrawn shook his head, letting out a shallow exhale. [No, Voss Parck. _I_ destroyed _Outbound Flight_ for him.]

Parck felt his whole body go numb. [You?] He breathed out disbelievingly. Well, it made sense, of course. The enemy commander had no means to destroy the ship by himself, not after what Thrawn had done to his task force. Even so, Parck couldn’t imagine Thrawn flatly ordering the death of fifty thousand civilians.

[I am sorry, sir, but I find it somewhat hard to believe. What led to the destruction?]

Thrawn stared at him for a couple of heartbeats, evaluating him with a deep, red-eyed stare. [The enemy commander tried to convince me that the Jedi onboard posed a grave threat to my people, and based on what he and the Corellian smugglers had told me about the Force in general, I was inclined to agree.]

His face clouded with an emotion Parck couldn’t interpret. Then he continued.

[Since I knew nothing of the Jedi at that time, or of the Force itself, I decided to personally meet them to make my own opinion before I passed the final verdict. However, I had already devised a plan that could solve both of my problems at the same time. And in the end, it did.]

He fell silent for a long moment.

[I gave the Jedi Master leading the expedition a chance to turn back, but he disregarded my advice, displaying arrogance in combination with deadly powers of unknown potential, something I couldn’t possibly ignore. Meanwhile I maneuvered Jorj Car’das, one of my Corellian human captives, into bringing in the Vagaari fleet, the threat to my people that I had planned to eliminate all along. Eventually it led to battle, with the Vagaari engaging _Outbound Flight_ and everything going according to my plans—until Jedi C’Baoth decided to unleash his mysterious powers on me, choking me with the Force over a video transmission.]

Thrawn’s eyes closed briefly at the memory.

[This led to a rash decision by one of my other captives, an officer from the Trade Federation fleet, who launched the radiation bombs I had in mind originally for the Vagaari, and killing my would-be murderer, destroying _Outbound Flight_ in the process.]

Parck crossed his arms. [Well, it was the Trade Federation officer who pressed the switch, wasn’t it? Not you,] he supplied awkwardly, hoping to ease the guilt Thrawn must have felt.

Thrawn threw him a dull look.

[Voss Parck, _please_. We are both military men. You know as well as I do that since I had been the commander of the task force, the responsibility rested entirely on my shoulders. And in any case, had the Jedi onboard truly proved to be a threat to my people, something that Jedi C’Baoth’s actions confirmed rather spectacularly, I would have had them eliminated eventually, although I would have tried to spare the civilian crew in the process.] He sighed. [However, we both know that it might not have been possible.]

No, when it came to the Jedi, the conventional rules of warfare didn’t apply. It was entirely possible that after another demonstration of the Force abilities, Thrawn would have ended up destroying _Outbound Flight_ itself as the quickest, most effective solution to the Jedi problem.

[The officer who launched the attack had been none other than Palpatine’s adviser, Kinman Doriana, acting on Chancellor Palpatine’s behalf, although at that time I naturally had no idea of the fact,] Thrawn let out a deep sigh. [I hadn’t been aware of that particular fact until I met His Majesty in person.]

Parck would never forget the venomous gleam in those yellow eyes when he had presented Thrawn as a gift to the Emperor. It was a nightmare that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Parck had served in the Clone Wars; and while he had never actually met a Jedi general, he had seen the results of their work, and he had heard enough stories of Darth Vader’s mysterious Force powers —not so dissimilar to the ones of the Inquisitors—to make his own assumptions as to what exactly the Dark Lord was.

A Jedi. A Sith. Whatever they called themselves these days.

And once Parck saw His Majesty with his own eyes, he immediately realized what could make such a powerful individual as Darth Vader kneel in front of the frail-looking, heavily disfigured old man.

Emperor Palpatine must have been Darth Vader’s master, that was the only logical explanation. And given the efficiency of the Jedi generals during the Clone Wars, Parck had his own suspicions as to what exactly Thrawn had in mind for the two.

His suspicions were later proven correct when Thrawn decided to sway Bittenfeld to his side; the gundark wouldn’t have settled for anything less. Bittenfeld had roared in laughter back then, telling Thrawn that he earned his loyalty with that one, that for once he’d keep his big mouth shut, and follow the red-eyed devil’s mad-as-mynock schemes to the damn kriffing letter. Oh, they had an understanding, all right.

Thrawn leaned back in his chair, once again giving him a long contemplative glance. [But no more words about the Emperor. Let’s get back to the story and how my brother’s death falls into it.]

He took a moment to gather his thoughts.

[Aristocra Chaf’orm’bintrano of the Fifth Ruling Family decided to make his move and accused me of breaking the Non-Aggression Law, effectively relieving me from command. His intention, of course, was not only to weaken the position of the Eight Ruling Family but also to claim the wreck of _Outbound Flight_ for himself, stealing the secrets of the Republic’s technology for the Fifth Family—something that could have led to a serious shift in power among the Ruling Families, possibly resulting in a civil war. Under no circumstances could we have allowed that to happen. Since I had been relieved from command, my brother took the burden upon himself, going with Jorj Car’das aboard _Outbound Flight_ in an attempt to take control of the wreck, either to deliver it to the Defense Hierarchy or to have it destroyed completely—whatever it took to prevent Aristocra Chaf’orm’bintrano from getting his hands on the technology.]

Thrawn paused there, his eyes staring off into a faraway distance, obviously lost deeply in thought. After more than a minute of silence, he resumed his tale.

[I do not know exactly what events transpired after Thrass and Jorj left. Nevertheless, the wreck of _Outbound Flight_ disappeared forever; likewise, Thrass himself never returned. I have devoted all of my free time and all of my expenses to searching for my missing brother. I eventually gave up. I had been _very_ thorough in my search, which left me with only one possible conclusion: there must have been an engine malfunction, resulting in an explosion, destroying the wreck that had already been falling apart and killing my brother in the process.]

If Thrawn had truly exhausted every single option, then there was no way his brother could still be alive out there. He would have never given up otherwise. Ever.

[Thrawn, your brother knew what he was getting into when he volunteered for the mission,] Parck said, speaking slowly and carefully. [From the very beginning, it appears there was little chance of success. There is no point in blaming yourself for his death. He made the decision.]

Thrawn slowly inclined his head. [Yes. We were both aware of the risk, as well as what was at stake for the Chiss Ascendancy had the ship fallen solely into the hands of the Fifth Ruling Family. Still, my plans sent fifty _thousand_ innocent beings to their deaths; and while I certainly do regret their deaths, I would have pressed the switch myself had there been the slightest chance that the ship would have been completely destroyed at that moment, preventing Thrass from ever setting his feet aboard the lifeless wreck.]

Parck let out a deep sigh. Honestly, he was at loss for words; and even if he hadn’t been, he knew saying anything, anything at all, would have been unwelcome.

[Thrawn…] he said simply, falling silent, leaving the core name hanging in the air.

[Thank you, Voss.] The Chiss used his given name for the first time; and while there was a genuine sense of gratitude behind the word, it also a clear sign that such familiarity would not repeat itself.

[For simply listening to the story without evaluating. You have all the virtues of a fair ruler, Voss Parck, which happens to be the task I envisioned for you.]

Parck blinked. [I am sorry, sir. What did you just say?]

Thrawn gave him a playful smile. [You said you wanted to serve the Empire worthy of its name, Voss Parck. Ruling is simply another form of service.]

And now Parck was completely lost. Surely he must have misheard. [You cannot possibly be planning a _coup_?]

Thrawn made a scornful sound. [Do not be ridiculous, Voss Parck,] he admonished him sharply. [Of course I am not planning a _coup d’etat_. I am merely aiming to pacify the Borderlands by establishing a permanent Imperial presence, one that would strongly discourage any marauders in the area from further attacks.]

Parck felt his jaw drop, completely stunned. [You are setting up an empire of your own,] he breathed out, remembering the words they had exchanged several years ago.

 _You_ do _realize I might require of you to become an extension of myself without revealing my plans to you, Voss Parck. I might require of you to sacrifice your entire career, your entire life for my own goals, whatever they might be, however noble or selfish they might be._

[Essentially correct, although I envisioned it to be more like a military alliance of a confederation of systems,] Thrawn admitted guardedly, the pale blue face unreadable. [Just as the _Admonitor_ has been removed from the official command structure by the decree of the Emperor, so will all further ships and personnel be permanently removed from the official structure as well, answering exclusively to me.]

Parck couldn’t believe his ears. [Palpatine _knows_ about this?]

Presenting Thrawn with a task force consisting of an ISD and three VSDs was one thing; giving him free reign over an empire within the Galactic Empire was something entirely different.

_What did you do to get in the Emperor’s favor, Thrawn? What did you do? Did you compliment Palpatine’s favorite artwork or something?_

Thrawn waved a hand dismissively, his face still completely unreadable. [As far as my Emperor is concerned, he _does_ command my actions; and as such, it is still part of the Galactic Empire. I merely proposed a revision to the New Order. That is all.]

[ _Your_ Emperor,] Parck muttered under his breath. No, Chiss didn’t have jokes, but they had their own, very specific sense of humor. And this one’s sense of humor was darker than a black hole, given that it also included never correcting Palpatine’s mispronunciation of his full name.

Thrawn paid no attention to Parck’s comment and instead continued his monologue:

[And I would like for you to start building that empire while I am here in the Galaxy. Essentially, I want you to become the regent in my absence. I have no interest in becoming a dictator or even in actually ruling the empire ever by myself. I simply want an authoritative, truly independent faction that will help me accomplish my own goals without Palpatine or anyone else breathing down on my neck.]

Thrawn might not be interested in becoming a dictator, but how could he be so sure Parck wouldn’t fall for the temptation, building his own personal fiefdom in the Unknown Regions while Thrawn was away? By sending him off aboard the _Admonitor_ , with no means of communication and no means of overseeing his activities, Thrawn had provided him with an excellent opportunity to make use of Imperial resources for his own enrichment. Even Parck had wondered sometimes, while reading through Thrawn’s manuals, how easy it would be to take all the credit for himself and use it for his own benefit. He had immediately discarded the idea, of course, but he had to admit it _had_ crossed his mind, and not just once. Now, with a steady supply of ships, personnel, and monetary funding, there was nothing that could have possibly stopped him from proclaiming _himself_ a king or an emperor.

Parck shook his head, forcing himself to suppress such thoughts, only to realize he had been under an intense red-eyed scrutiny the whole time his mind was wandering. He wondered how much the Chiss had been able to read from his expression and body language. Considering Parck’s background and his original motivations for bringing the cunning alien in front of the Emperor, it was probably more than he would have ever cared to admit.

[Wouldn’t it be more convenient to choose someone more experienced in politics?] Parck said instead, thankful that Thrawn allowed him at least an illusion of privacy while he was going through his own insecurities and doubts.

[Perhaps. Perhaps not,] Thrawn said cryptically, his face once again unreadable.

[In any case, I am perfectly aware it is an impossible feat for one single man, Voss Parck. Eventually, there will be others coming to share your burden, those appointed by me as well as those of your own choosing.] He hesitated for a brief moment, a hint of uncertainty creeping into the smooth, measured voice.

[As for the political part, Lisetha would be more than happy to offer her experience as an aristocra. However, it would have to be done strictly in an unofficial manner since she will soon be fully preoccupied with completely different matters.]

 _Oh_.

Parck cleared his throat, and he sat up a little straighter. [Of course, Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo. I shall guard them even at the cost of my own life.] 

[Thank you, Voss Parck. I know you will. I know you will,] Thrawn repeated slowly, and there was a sincere humility in his voice. [Kres’ten’tarthi’s presence aboard the _Admonitor_ provides excellent cover, incidentally. No one would question the appearance of another Chiss. I shall have to explain the situation to the commander later in private.]

Parck tapped his fingers against the armchair nervously.

[Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo, I am not sure... After everything you told me of the aristocra of the Fifth Ruling Family, can Kres’ten’tarthi be truly trusted?]

[I could tell Kres’ten’tarthi was being sincere,] Thrawn countered, looking past him in the direction of the door.

[He very much reminds me of myself. He felt let down by the Chiss Ascendancy as a whole, finally coming to the decision to take the matter into his own hands as the last possible option. Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do for him at this time short of accepting him into my service. It is only a matter of time until he comes to terms with the path his life has taken. Please bear with him until the time comes. His new allegiance to the House is without question.]

If Thrawn believed Stent could be trusted, then there could be no doubt about his loyalty. Still, Parck suppressed a grimace. He would have to learn how to deal with the insufferable son of a Hutt.

[Nevertheless, I will be sending General Bittenfeld soon after Lisetha,] Thrawn continued, groaning quietly in annoyance. [For he will be truly insufferable otherwise. Ever since he decided to take her safety into his own hands, I have been forced to spend more time in his presence than absolutely necessary.]

Parck would have laughed at the mental image of the three had he not been taken completely by surprise.

[Bittenfeld _knows_?]

[Yes, unfortunately he does.] Thrawn scowled, an expression of irritation creeping into the pale blue features. [And I am sure he will be more than happy to provide you with an overly dramatic retelling of the events. The general has always had a way with words.]

Parck let out a small chuckle.

[Oh, yes, he has.] His expression turned grim. [How can you possibly explain the sudden reassignment of an army general? Even a grand admiral cannot simply send a general away without at least informing Army Command. And that would have raised too many questions.]

[Then it is very fortunate that the general is about to temporarily transfer his flag to the _Relentless_ to carry out a personal favor for me,] Thrawn answered nonchalantly. If there was anything Thrawn enjoyed as much as his art, it was his audience. And if there was anything Parck enjoyed, it was a good holodrama. No wonder Thrawn scoffed over the holovision dramas when it was apparent he could have written a much better script himself.

[Regrettably, on his way back, the _Lambda_ shuttle will be met with a serious engine malfunction, leading into an explosion of the hyperdrive coolant. Neither General Bittenfeld nor Lieutenant Vanto will make it out alive, I’m afraid. Given the number of the enemies I have made, I may even take a random pick as to whom to officially blame for the accident.]

_A random pick? Really, Thrawn…_

[Not the insurgents, by the way, not in this particular case. During the past months, my new aide-de-camp has publicly appeared in my company enough times to make it look like an attempt to strike at me personally. It will also provide me with an excellent opportunity for clearing the board and finally putting all my plans into motion. This is _exactly_ the moment I have been waiting for.]

One didn’t need to be a Chiss to see through Bittenfeld, which meant there was no way the General could have been already aware that his life had been about to take an abrupt, _permanent_ change. Well, Bittenfeld must have understood the moment would come sooner or later when he had accepted his role in Thrawn’s schemes; it was only a matter of time when Thrawn decided Bittenfeld was deemed ready to play his part. Still, Parck would have to prepare himself for an inevitable bout of anger and cussing at Thrawn’s expense once Bittenfeld found himself alive and well aboard the _Admonitor_.

Yet there was something else that immediately caught Parck’s attention.

[Lieutenant Vanto? The young man I saw? Do you want me to take care of him as well?]

The lieutenant had a sense of innocence around him, like someone who had never actually pulled a trigger in his life and who would not have approved of the kind of dirty work Thrawn must have been carrying out for the Emperor. Well, the real question was whether or not he would approve even the kind of the dirty work Parck carried out for Thrawn from time to time. There were things Thrawn wanted simply _gone_ from the face of the universe, with minimum expenditures on Parck’s part, which meant sometimes Parck had to play really dirty.

Or low.

Thrawn shook his head. [No. I have different plans in mind for Eli Vanto. However, if the lieutenant is successful in his mission, then your paths will eventually cross and intertwine in the future.] He looked pensive for a moment. [He is the wild card, Voss Parck. He is the one who could make it all possible.]

Parck slowly bowed his head in acceptance; until the moment came, they would both have to operate independently, for any interaction between Parck and Vanto could very well undermine all Thrawn’s efforts.

[I am running multiple campaigns, Voss Parck, and I cannot afford losing any of them,] Thrawn explained, apparently following his trail of thoughts.

[However, despite all complications, it seems that all the key players are finally at their positions. Now I can concentrate on subjugating this little Rebellion for Palpatine before the real enemies arrive on the scene. There is still plenty of time, although I cannot rule out the possibility that their arrival may be hastened or that another old enemy of mine may be awoken from deep slumber. If that happens, then I shall have to come over and personally oversee the Borderlands campaign. Whether Palpatine likes it or not.]

It would have been so much easier had he been talking about one enemy, singular. However, Thrawn was always talking about enemies, plural, who could not be reasoned with, whose only objective was to destroy all existing sentient life and replace it with their own, who didn’t care at all about the cost or losses, and who had the power to destroy this entire galaxy.

And not only those. There were hundred different threats out there with potential as deadly as them, and even those Thrawn deemed within Parck’s respective capabilities to annihilate were so terrifying that they made the blood freeze in his veins. How Thrawn could remain so calm and unaffected by the impending sense of doom was completely beyond Parck’s comprehension.

Or perhaps Thrawn was not so unaffected by the whole situation. Perhaps deep down Thrawn wasn’t as strong as he appeared to be in front of his men, and he did not want Parck or anyone else to know. Or perhaps Thrawn had another reason entirely for constantly supplying facts without revealing all the information, even to him. Parck was privy to more information than the rest, it would have never worked otherwise, still he was light years from being aware of all Thrawn’s plans.

By human standards, a lie by omission was still a lie. On the other hand, as far as he knew, the Cheunh had no clear equivalent for a lie by omission; it simply did not count as a lie.

Therefore, had he asked, he knew Thrawn would have told him the truth. However, the more Thrawn revealed of his plans, the clearer it became that Thrawn did not want him to know the full truth, and so he never asked.

Whatever were the reasons behind his silence, whether he had an ulterior motive, whether there was much more to his exile or whether he simply suffered from his own insecurities and doubts, it would have changed nothing between the two of them. As a man who had been keeping a secret for all his life, Parck could easily understand Thrawn’s reluctance to admit to certain things aloud.

[Lisetha has been made aware of all the information and the steps to be taken in case the situation ever arose. Listen to her advice, Voss Parck, make good use of General Bittenfeld, and under no circumstances engage the enemies you are unable to defeat on your own. There is no room for misplaced pride out there, and there is definitely no need to engage those threats only to prove yourself to me.]

Parck sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping noticeably. [Too bad not even you can split in two and be in two places at the same time,] he said lightly, a corner of his mouth quirking up.

[That would have solved the problem.]

Being human, Parck could never stop himself from cracking jokes when faced with a difficult situation in order to alleviate the tension, no matter how ridiculous and blatantly unprofessional Thrawn found the whole concept.

[Hmm, yes, it certainly would,] Thrawn mused aloud, as if he didn’t understand that it was supposed to be merely a silly joke, his expression clouding up as his eyes stared off into the distance.

[Never mind. Enough talk for today. Before I retire for the night, I wish to spend some time cataloging the newest additions to my collection. Have a pleasant evening, Voss Parck, and let the crew enjoy the rest of the Festivities. I shall perform an official inspection of the _Admonitor_ later, bringing the plans of your future campaigns with me.]

 

**THE END**

 


	13. All Roads Begin on Coruscant

**Title: All Roads Begin on Coruscant**

* * *

 

Parck found Stent standing guard on the far side of the main staircase, opposite from Thrawn’s apartment. The white helmet was titled slightly to a side. Presumably he was watching the myriad of lights shimmering from the Coruscanti traffic and skyscrapers all around them.

Together they strode over to the nearby landing pad in silence. Stent’s imitation of a stormtrooper’s stance and march were exactly as per regulation, behaving as if he truly belonged to the Stormtrooper Corps. However, as soon as they boarded the Lambda shuttle, all pretense ended. The Chiss immediately removed his helmet, something a real stormtrooper never would have done, and walked wordlessly away, reappearing a few minutes later dressed in the usual black uniform tunic. He aimed straight for the cockpit, sitting down in the co-pilot’s seat and turning to observe the young pilot at her work.

What he did next was entirely unexpected, either by Parck or by the pilot. Leaning forward, Stent asked her in heavily accented Basic, “Need help?”

This startled the poor ensign so much that she bumped her head on the transparisteel glass ceiling while running the pre-flight check procedures. Parck couldn’t blame her. His jaw almost dropped to the floor right there. The Chiss seemed oblivious to their shock since he then repeated the question in Cheunh, asking Parck whether he had used the correct words.

Parck shook his head and told him to simply leave the pilot alone, for she was more than capable of performing the task on her own. The Chiss nodded and resumed his analysis of the procedure, his eyes flickering over the buttons and controls she was using, the look of concentration on his face leaving no doubt that he was trying to memorize the exact order and the function of each button.

And so the flight to the _Admonitor_ passed in silence as well. Thankfully the young ensign paid no attention to the intense Chiss scrutiny. Stent had been watching her the whole time like an academy instructor during the final exam. During the final docking procedures, he actually leaned over her shoulder, which made her tense ever so slightly, but fortunately it didn’t result in another fright. That could have led to catastrophic results.

Overall, Parck supposed, the young woman performed admirably. Therefore, when the “flight academy instructor” finally decided to leave the cockpit without a word, presumably giving her a passing grade, Parck patted the ensign on her shoulder and muttered a quiet commendation for her good work.

Once they exited the shuttle, Stent followed him like a tall looming shadow as usual, something that had happened so often during the haunted month that Parck had actually grown used to it. However, further adding to the perplexing shift in character, the Chiss broke his normal code of silence and began asking Parck various questions about Imperial Center: the number of the inhabitants, the number of levels of the ecumenopolis, the points of interests, et cetera. They were all factual questions, and yet still, what made Parck stop and stare was the very fact that the Chiss expressed an interest in talking to him at all.

After all this time of being practically ignored, except when being addressed in a condescending manner, he now thought he could just jump into small talk as if they were on friendly terms?

[ _That’s it?_ ] Parck stopped right in his tracks, almost causing the Chiss to collide with him as the other man did not expect such an abrupt halt.

[Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo told you to treat me as an equal, and just like _that_ ,] Parck snapped his fingers, and threw the Chiss a hard glare, [you decide to do a complete U-turn and suddenly start talking to me?]

[Yes,] the Chiss stated simply, stepping back from Parck and out of his personal space.

[Regardless of your personal opinion on the matter?] Parck’s eyes narrowed further. [Because it’s very clear you don’t like me.]

Something about such a radical shift just made him uneasy. Given Stent’s earlier confession of his plan to eradicate the crew of the _Admonitor_ , Parck did not like the idea that the self-righteous Chiss could change character with a seeming flip of a switch. He did not trust him.

In fact, he was _this_ close to having the pale blue wonder ordered thrown out of the airlock. He had the actual right to do it as an admiral, of course. They might have been removed from the official command structure, but they were still the Galactic Empire. However, he had always considered it to be the captain’s privilege.

[Personal opinions are irrelevant,] Stent declared firmly, giving him a hard glare in return. [Once a Chiss warrior is given an order, he or she carries it out. _Period._ It matters little whether they agree with the actual order or not; they carry it out all the same. You know this.]

 _Oh, really? Funny, coming from a deserter like you_ , Parck thought, but he knew better than to say so aloud. Had Parck thrown it right in his face, Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo or not, the oh-so-proud Chiss could have lost it, and then all the Nine Hells of Corellia would really break loose.

And in any case, this was not the best place to start an argument. They were in the middle of a corridor. It hardly mattered whether the passing by Imperials understood the Cheunh or not. They could easily understand their respective tones. And Parck and Stent were the two top commanding officers. They couldn’t be seen arguing publicly in a hallway.

[Follow me to my office,] Parck hissed. Without waiting for an acknowledgment or a reply, he turned on his heel and stalked to the end of the hall to the lift. The subsequent ride to their destination was very quiet.

After they entered the admiral’s office, Parck finally opened his mouth to say what was on his tongue all along. [Commander Kres’ten’tarthi, you do not need to talk to me simply because Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo commanded you to cooperate with me. I am certain we can find a way how to work together without engaging in unnecessary casual conversation. We are both professional warriors after all.]

Oh, he wanted to use _very_ different words, but unfortunately the insufferable son of a Hutt couldn’t have possibly understood them.

The Chiss raised a blue-black eyebrow. [It is my understanding that humans of similar standing often engage in casual conversation. I am simply doing my best based on the limited observations of human behavior aboard the _Admonitor_.]

Parck felt the urge to strangle the pale blue wonder. “Well, then, you suck at it,” he muttered under his breath in Basic.

The Chiss gave him a long stare, his brows furring in a frown. Whether or not he had learned that particular expression during his Galactic Basic self-study remained mystery. Most probably he had not. However, it was clear he could understand the tone and make an educated guess.

“Yes. I very suck,” Stent said hesitantly in heavily accented Basic.

It took all Parck’s self-control not to burst into laughter right away. He shook his head instead, letting out a deep, exasperated sigh. “You have no idea even how much,” he murmured, still in Basic.

[How much can you understand from listening on the crew’s conversations?] Parck asked, switching back to Cheunh.

Stent put his arms behind his back.

[Much less than I would have expected by now. I managed to memorize a large portion of the dictionary. Even so, most of your conversations make little sense to me. There are too many colloquial expressions, the grammar is too different, and there are cultural and cognitive barriers as well.] He made an uncertain pause. “My Basic isn’t very well,” he added awkwardly, aptly summarizing his one month self-study sessions.

Parck rolled his eyes. [It might have helped if you took on my initial offer to teach you Galactic Basic instead of turning me down and studying the language on your own from language databanks and protocol droids. Or if you had at least engaged in elementary conversations either with me or with the rest of the crew.]

The Chiss was looking at him as if he was a very strange sample under a microscope.

[It is my understanding that those machines are built with this very purpose in mind. Chiss do not use such sophisticated artificial intelligence. I find the concept most intriguing.]

Parck gritted his teeth. [So you prefer droids?]

[I said no such thing.] The Chiss threw him a bewildered glance. [Until Mitth’raw’nurodo’s counsel on the matter, your position and status remained unclear. It was not the same with the machines. Also, the machines came with one significant advantage.]

[Oh, and what is that?] Parck said sarcastically.

_If he says droids make better conversation partners because they have an off switch, I’m gonna lose it._

[It is possible to program them not to ask questions of a personal nature and of one’s current emotional state. In our culture, it is considered a serious breach of good manners and etiquette. Humans insist on inquiring after such matters far too often. You are so soft and complacent.]

_That’s it. I’ve had enough._

Parck considered himself to be a very patient man. He had been so approachable to his men, talking to them not because there was an ulterior motive but because he truly enjoyed their company. It would have extended to the Chiss as well, as a gesture of good will. However, not only had the said pale blue wonder flatly turned him down, but Stent had summed up Parck’s personal traits into _that_ particular word and threw them right in his face, as if they were his vices, unknowingly striking at his weakest point.

“Take care, mister, because I _am_ actually gay, and I am definitely gonna screw you if you keep behaving like an asshole.” Parck spat each word like venom, jabbing his finger in the air emphatically toward Stent’s chest.

Unfortunately, the Chiss didn’t understand the slang. Perhaps then Parck should consider giving him a visual aid to show the Chiss just how much of an insufferable son of a Hutt he was.

The Chiss blinked, completely at loss.

[I do not understand the meaning of what you just said. However, based on the tone and color of your voice, the expression on your face, and the distribution of the body heat indicating extreme emotional distress, which I contribute either to rage or loathing, or a combination of both, I presume that I must have caused a terrible personal offense. Your words are clearly meant to be grave insults. What did I say to elicit such a reaction?]

Parck let out a small sigh. Honestly, he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. How was he even supposed to explain it to the Chiss?

[Look, you said the _worst_ possible thing there is to say... It’s deeply... _Whatever_. I belong to a human minority that is naturally drawn to the members of the same gender, and in human culture men like me are generally thought to be _soft_ , which doesn’t exactly correspond with the ideal image of an Imperial soldier.]

 _Soft_ and _weak_ in general, the laughingstock of the Imperial military. A gay Stormtrooper? Hahaha. Very funny. Seriously, what a joke. 

 _Sick_ and _twisted_ on the world Parck originally came from... Corulag had been one of the most conservative Core World planets even before the transformation of the Galactic Republic into the Galactic Empire.

The Chiss simply stared at him for a moment. [Ah, I see now that I might have created offense where it was not intended,] Stent said after a couple of seconds, his tone matter-of-fact.

He gave Parck a curt nod. [You have my most sincere apology, Voss Parck. When I called you soft and complacent, I was referring to the human race as a whole, not to you specifically. I fail to see how such peculiar behavior could make you seem _soft_ any further.]

The New Order fanatics at COMPNOR would have died of an apoplectic attack had they heard the pale blue wonder’s summation of the human species. Parck moaned quietly. Would it always be like this?

[You’ve written away humanity as whole, Kres’ten’tarthi. How could I not possibly take offense?]

In any case, Parck could hardly think of a more fitting punishment for a former Palpatinist like himself. Corulagi strongly believed in karma; this Chiss must have been the payback for all his sins and evil deeds during the Clone Wars, that was the only possible explanation.

[I can _literally_ see what kind of effect my words have on your body,] the Chiss said, continuing his in-depth observational study, [the more I say, the more emotionally distressed you become, and your opinion of me drops lower and lower.]

He finally stopped and then released a deep sigh of resignation.

[Perhaps it would, indeed, be for the best if we limited our interaction only to the most necessary level of communication, as you suggested earlier. I do not wish to create any more offense when you have been nothing but considerate with my warriors and me. You have provided shelter and nourishment, and I have repaid you with nothing but offense by speaking truthfully. There is no excuse for my behavior, Voss Parck. Clearly, the faith Mitth’raw’nuruodo placed in me was unfounded.]

[It’s just...] Parck fell silent for a while. [You’re behaving like an...] He left the sentence hanging in the air. He didn’t know any insults in Cheunh. Thrawn had never taught him. Logically, there had to be something that might have constituted an offense. Every single language in the universe had.

[ _Moactan teel_ ,] the Chiss supplied, the smooth voice holding uncharacteristic hesitation. Obviously he didn’t want an outsider to know any Cheunh derogatory terms. He used his fingers to show Parck the proper stroke order of the complicated ideogram.

[Huh?] Parck took apart the strokes that held the meaning of the two words.

[As in _fair haired_?] He had been taught a very different expression for a person having fair or graying hair. [How is that even supposed to be an insult?]

[It is a fairly potent insult among my people, Voss Parck,] Stent countered in a tone saying it should have been self-explanatory enough. [I am sure you have realized by now that all Chiss have blue-black hair. It does lose its meaning entirely when a Chiss leaves the Homeworld. Such an insult is inapplicable as such to outsiders with fair hair.]

Parck pursed his lips. [This accidental offending never seemed to occur with Mitth’raw’nuruodo. How is it possible that I never experienced anything similar with him?]

Stent appeared to be pensive for a moment as he pondered a potential explanation. [Because Mitth’raw’nuruodo has a unique ability to understand other species after careful examination of their artwork. To the best of my knowledge, no other Chiss possesses the same ability. Therefore, he can easily imagine what might constitute as an offense.]

Parck narrowed his eyes in suspicion. [Is it truly _only_ thanks to Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s ability to understand art?]

Stent fell silent for a while, giving him a long, contemplative glance, and then the glowing eyes brightened up with a spark. Bingo.

[No. It is because Mitth’raw’nuruodo is one of the few Chiss who has always considered the space outside Chiss Ascendancy worthy of our attention. Our kind believes itself to be the most civilized species in the galaxy. Therefore, our curiosity is focused on our own self-improvement. Natural Sciences. Technology. Liberal Arts. Mysteries of the Universe.]

[See, therein lies the problem,] Parck said dryly. No wonder Thrawn had taught him only the language in the beginning, only reluctantly teaching him some of his own people’s societal customs and conventions years later. In theory, their code of conduct seemed so modest and humble, in reality though, it was applicable only to the Chiss themselves. The outsiders were unworthy of their attention and curiosity.

[It’s not the art. Fine, I will give you _soft_. Humans are, after all, physically weaker than Chiss. However, if anyone is complacent, it is you.]

The Chiss let it slowly process through his brain.

[I apologize, Voss Parck. While Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo told me to treat you as an equal, it may take a while before my own mind is able to fully come to terms with the concept.]

Parck snickered. [Oh please. I come from the Core Worlds, from a wealthy, respectable family with a long history of military service. If there is anyone who thinks themselves to be as superior as much as Chiss do, possibly even more, it’s us Core Worlders. I had to overcome my own share of prejudice in the past. If a human can do it, a Chiss can do it as well.]

Stent inclined his head. [I see your point. However, it might be difficult to convince the other Chiss warriors under my command to see your flawless reasoning.]

Parck flashed him an evil smirk. [Let’s start with _one_ Chiss in particular then. The rest will follow suit once they see their leader treating a human leader as their equal.]

Stent raised a blue black eyebrow. [How do you propose to do that?]

Parck’s evil smirk got even wider. [Well, you’ve suggested casual conversation. It’s a great way to start.]

Stent actually flinched. He was trying his best, Parck supposed. He just _really_ sucked at it. Therefore, Parck decided to take pity on him.

[Relax. It’s not going to be an interrogation, let me show you how the humans do it.] He motioned for the Chiss to follow him further into the office and took out one of the bottles he had stored in one of the cabinets.

[Here, drink this. It’s called Forvish ale. I have no idea if it is to your liking, but it’s what Mitth’raw’nuruodo ordered whenever he was required to participate in this custom and was offered a choice of drink.]

The Chiss looked at the bottle with suspicion but finally nodded in resignation. Thus they found themselves quietly sipping Forvish ale as they sat in his office. The Chiss looked anything but comfortable, as if he expected an interrogation droid to pop up at any moment.

[So, what did you think of Imperial Center?] Parck decided to break the proverbial ice since the Chiss looked so out of his element. It was obvious he had no idea what to do or say for the sake of not offending Parck any further.

Stent grew very still. [This might not be the best topic of conversation, Voss Parck. I am afraid whatever I am about to say about the planet itself might only create more offense.]

Parck chuckled. [It won’t. It’s not the world where I originated.] He briefly wondered what the pale blue wonder would say about his actual homeworld, though... 

Slowly, the Chiss inclined his head.

[In that case, I suppose I can speak freely. The planet itself is too artificial for my liking. There is no nature, no wilderness, only impossibly tall skyscrapers. While I admit the nightview of the ecumenopolis is rather impressive, reminding me of a starry sky, it is essentially a planet made out of a concrete. How Mitth’raw’nuruodo can stand living in such a place escapes me.]

Parck smiled softly as he took a sip from his ale.

[Ah, he doesn’t. Not really. He only comes back once in a while between deployments and whenever he is summoned by the Emperor, which must happen quite often nowadays since he is member of the High Command.]

He shifted, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other.

[As for having accommodations there, I suppose keeping an apartment is more practical than renting a hotel room every time. I don’t think he holds any particular attachment to the planet itself.]

The Chiss sipped his drink in silence for a minute or so before finally saying, [I cannot imagine getting attached to such a hideous place either. There is no ground upon which the snow can fall. It must dissolve immediately.]

_Snow? Of course._

[We can drop by an uninhabited ice world if the Chiss crew is interested in a shore leave, actually,] Parck offered with a small shrug. Why not, as long as there were no ingenious populations to attract unwelcome attention about their Chiss visitors? [There are plenty on our way back. We can drop you off while the human crew goes to some nearby tropical planet.]

They could always go to Scariff, for example, a popular shore-leave destination for Imperials. Now, that didn’t sound half bad at all...

Stent only waved a hand in a dismissal. [Your sentiment is appreciated but completely misplaced, Voss Parck. None of the ice worlds can possibly match the beauty of Csilla.]

Parck stared at the Chiss, who had taken a sudden interest in his drink, paying no attention to him whatsoever.

 _He is homesick,_ Parck realized, recalling the time he had found Thrawn meditating in the middle of the Coruscanti winter, calmly watching the snow drift down slowly to the concrete, where it had dissolved immediately upon contact with the surface.

_They all are, including Thrawn. And vising an ice world would only make it worse._

[What desired effect is this drink supposed to produce?] Stent asked abruptly, taking his eyes from the ale to meet his.

Parck let out a small cough. [The ethanol in this beverage interferes with the brain’s communication pathways, affecting the way the mind works. These disruptions can change mood and behavior, making it harder to think clearly and coordinate one’s movements. Usually it begins with relaxation and reduced inhibitions.]

He wasn’t trying to make the Chiss _drunk_ ; he was only hoping to loosen him up a bit.

[Hmmm,] the Chiss mused aloud, giving the liquid a dubious glance. [I suppose it is having the intended effect, then. However, at this moment I am hardly able to tell whether the amount of interference with the brain is equal to its effect on a human. I would have to further experiment on the matter.]

_No shavit._

Considering Stent and his Chiss warriors had made a collective effort to ambush them in a nebula and had considered killing them with poisonous vapors, Parck and Niriz would be glad to take on the challenge of drinking the pale blue wonder under the table.

[Chiss _do_ produce similar beverages that are meant to be drunk among companions or close associates, although I suppose the chemical composition may differ. Usually we do not remove the methanol during the distillation process, for it results in a somewhat sweeter flavor,] Stent continued.

[You can drink methanol?!] Parck exclaimed, causing the Chiss to startle. [Okay, no volatile Chiss syrspirits on the _Admonitor_ allowed, like ever. Methanol causes irreversible blindness in humans even in low doses, and in slightly higher doses it results in coma and death. You can see how it could pose a problem for the human crew.]

The Chiss blinked in genuine surprise. [I was unaware of the effect on human body. I will inform the Chiss warriors.]

Parck suppressed a smirk. He truly hoped it wasn’t the methanol that made the Chiss get high, otherwise their collective effort would backfire on them. Well, they could always ask the engineering department for help, Parck supposed. It was an unspoken secret that the engineers produced illegal alcohol from the reactor’s coolant. Captain Niriz didn’t like it one bit, but Parck convinced him to let the crew have little fun as long as there was no sudden onset of blindness.

[What about the food?] Parck said instead, giving him a thoughtful glance. [Do you like our food?]

The Chiss made a derisive sound. [If you refer to the meals served aboard the _Admonitor_ , then no, none of the Chiss aboard find it agreeable at all.]

Parck chuckled. [Well, none of the humans aboard do either, to be honest.] 

The pale blue face clouded in a frown. [Why does your military supply you with such low quality rations then? From the look of Imperial Center, the Galactic Empire does not appear to be lacking in monetary funding. Surely it could provide their troops with more agreeable sources of nourishment.]

Parck barked out an honest laugh. 

[It was not supposed to be entertaining,] the Chiss said with confusion, the frown on his alien face deepening.

[I know.] Parck said with a wide grin. “ _That’s_ what makes it funny.”

[You humans are so puzzling.] The Chiss simply stared at him, giving him a dull look. [Nevertheless, I find your company permissible, Voss Parck, and I very much appreciate your unique ability to speak my full name without making me consider ramming my fighter against the hull of the Star Destroyer.]

Parck shook his head, suppressing the urge to burst into laughter once again. The pale blue wonder truly stood up to his nickname.

[You still might want to work on your flattery skills a little bit, Kres’ten’tarthi, especially if you ever start talking to Captain Niriz. And you should. It’s _his_ ship after all. You’ve given him enough wrinkles already. He’s been quite worried about how much longer the _Admonitor_ will be able to withstand such a clash of cultures. He is a ‘ _mother hen_ ,’] Parck added lightly in Basic.

“A _mother_ hen?” Stent repeated slowly, the confusion clearly written on his blue face. “Not a father hen?”

[It is an expression. It refers to a person who fusses over others in an overprotective manner,] Parck supplied in Cheunh upon seeing the Chiss’ incredulous stare. He tried his best to wipe the smirk off his face but failed.

_I might need to warn the good old captain, though. He might think the Nine Hells froze over if Stent suddenly started talking to him in his broken Basic. And in any case, Niriz would burst out laughing, and Stent would get offended._

[Yes.] Stent nodded in agreement at the apt description of the captain. [Captain Dagon Niriz is the most annoying human of you all, constantly voicing his concerns aloud. An attitude completely unacceptable among Chiss warriors.]

Parck rolled his eyes. [You Chiss are simply too proud for your own good.]

The Chiss sighed quietly. [I know.] 

Parck cleared his throat. Such an admission couldn’t have come easily to his tongue, Parck supposed. [Well, at least you realize that. That’s the first step. Everyone has to start somewhere, I guess.]

[Yes,] the Chiss said in a very matter of fact tone, as if there was nothing unusual about the acknowledgment.

 _He is so proud, prouder than Thrawn_ ever _was._

[And I also realized that since I do not possess Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s unique ability, the easiest and most effective approach to solve the mystery of humankind would be to ask directly instead of jumping to faulty conclusions based on insufficient data and wrongful assumptions,] Stent declared all of a sudden, giving Parck a brief, hesitant glance. [There is no shame in acknowledging one’s shortcomings if one wishes to learn from them. Would you be willing to explain your puzzling human behavior to me, Voss Parck?]

[Why not?] Parck flashed him a mischievous grin. “It could be fun.”

“ _Fun?_ ” The Chiss slowly repeated the basic word. Clearly he had come across the word in his self-study. He simply didn’t understand what was “fun” about the whole notion. [I am being serious.]

[I know.]

 

**THE END**

 

BTW The 'soft and complacent' line is a nod to Stent's infamous exchange with Mara Jade (former Emperor's Hand) in the _Vision of the Future_. Since the Chiss Defense Fleet has female admirals, I guess Stent had dismissed only human females as soft. In my verse, he took it a little further.

_Stent gave a contemptuous snort. "From what," he bit out harshly. "You soft, complacent female. You think that because you lounge around your quiet worlds behind a ring of warships that the rest of the galaxy is a safe place to live? There are a hundred different threats out there that would freeze your blood if you knew about them."_

 

 

Click to see this absolutely amazing picture of Parck and Stent made by [ymirr-art-blog](http://ymirr-art-blog.tumblr.com/). Asdfghjkl *fangirling*


	14. The Reenlistment of Eli Vanto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Each person has goals. Some of those goals are open, visible to all who care to observe. Others are more private, shared only with one's closest friends or associates. Some are dark secrets that one hopes will never see the light of day. But eventually, inevitably, those deepest goals must be made manifest if they are to be reached. They must be opened for someone to hear, or see, or offer assistance. Everyone who brings those goals into the light must be prepared for either acceptance or rejection. And he must be ready to bear the consequences. All of them." - Timothy Zahn

**Title: The Reenlistment of Eli Vanto**

 

Gentle reminder:

Thrawn and Eli Vanto never met as low ranks in the Freak Fleet verse; Eli’s life has taken the path he had originally intended for himself, becoming a supply line officer, and Grand Admiral Thrawn stumbled upon him during a routine inspection immediately after the Battle of Atollon, after he overheard him saying the word ‘Chiss’ and the far-fetched stories of the Chiss warriors. Thrawn had him transferred aboard the _Chimaera_ , promoting him to the rank of a lieutenant, and made him his official _aide-de-camp_ (a military officer acting as a confidential assistant to a senior officer).

BTW If you paid careful attention while reading the book, you might have noticed Thrawn had originally thought Eli to be an agent planted on him by the Nemoidians; only he wasn’t. Now, in _this_ verse…

 

 

_**Jump back in time: ** _

 

_Empire Day (CH1 – Imperial State of Mind), few hours after Thrawn returned from the private audience with the Emperor_

 

* * *

 

“You could have turned on the lights, Lieutenant,” came a smooth, cultured voice from behind. “Unlike humans, Chiss are able to see clearly in the dark. That particular myth is, indeed, true.”

Eli literally jumped in shock.

He felt the blood freeze in his veins, the color draining from his face. His heart skipped a beat and then suddenly kicked back into overtime, beating so fast he thought he would collapse. He turned slowly, only to find himself staring straight into the barrel of a blaster pointed right at the middle of his head, held steadily by none other than Grand Admiral Thrawn.

So, this was Thrawn’s way of saying: “Busted.”

“ _Kriff_ ,” Eli muttered under his breath, unable to tear his eyes away from the instrument of his imminent destruction; and as he heard the safety being switched off, he found himself mildly disappointed that none of his original expectations of facing death came true. He had thought that maybe his entire life would suddenly flash in front of his eyes during his very last moments, but there was nothing that came to his mind, nothing at all. There was only that damn barrel and a sense of failure, a feeling of having his life uselessly spent for naught.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, swallowing hard, biting his lower lip, refusing to scream in desperation or to plead for mercy, awaiting the inevitable end—which, even after more than a minute, never came.

He jerked his head and opened his eyes wide, only to see the Chiss watching him intently, the red eyes glowing much brighter than usual in the darkness. The arm holding the blaster slowly lowered.

“Now that you have finally calmed down, Lieutenant—or perhaps I should simply address you as Eli Vanto, since I am afraid your career at the Imperial Navy has been effectively terminated.” The red eyes narrowed. “Maybe you could finally turn on the light and engage in a civilized conversation. There are many things we need to discuss.”

Eli gaped, speechless.

He continued staring at the Grand Admiral, his eyes frantically searching the Chiss face for a reason behind such inexplicable behavior—he should be dead—but he could barely see anything besides the glowing red eyes. Those eyes, which watched him back, giving off a steady, dim glow that reminded him of a flame slowly burning in a fireplace. There was no anger in them, no imminent threat. Only that faint glow.

“Since I cannot make it an order anymore,” Thrawn said in a calm, patient tone, “Eli Vanto, _please_ , if you would be so kind to turn on the light?”

Eli finally snapped out of it, closing his mouth. Then he leaned over the table, turning on the light, the admiral’s office instantly brightening up to the pre-set standard aboard any Imperial Navy ship.

“Thank you, Eli Vanto,” Thrawn said, and to Eli’s further bewilderment there was a trace of genuine gratitude in the smooth, cultured voice.

“And now, I believe you might need to sit down for the conversation. What you are about to find out might come to you as a shock.”

 _Oh, really, you don’t say_ , Eli thought acerbically. No doubt the Grand Admiral was merely playing games with him. Something was definitely not right here.

“Thank you, Admiral,” he said instead, each word dripping with sarcasm. He didn’t need to call him ‘sir’ anymore; but on the other hand, calling him just Thrawn seemed weird as well, so he opted for the shortened form of his military rank.

“But I prefer to stand.”

The Chiss shrugged in dismissal and walked past him, sitting down comfortably into his command chair. “As you wish, Eli Vanto, although I have no doubt you will eventually change your mind.”

Eli bit his tongue. The Grand Admiral wanted to have a civilized conversation. Well, that was fine with him. It was better than an interrogation by the ISB, although he had no doubt that would follow shortly.

“I’m afraid it’s going to be a rather one sided conversation, Admiral. I assume you know why I’m here. And given the nature of my mission, my own knowledge has been strictly limited. I can tell you nothing you don’t already know.”

Thrawn slowly inclined his head. “I know, Eli Vanto, but you came here with the intent to steal and broadcast information that would have immediately led back to you, and I couldn’t have allowed that to happen.”

Eli’s eyed narrowed, his brow furrowing in confusion. The Chiss was making absolutely no sense.

“You saw right through it from the very beginning,” he said, his voice rising as a trace of genuine anger found its way into his tone. Oh no, no, _no_ ! He had seen Thrawn work. He would not allow the master manipulator to get to him.

“You allowed Rebel Intelligence to think that their cleverness in using my supposed knowledge of the Chiss against you was successful.”

His stomach clenched painfully as the realization hit him, and his arms dropped to his sides. “You went along with it, even going as far as making me your official _aide-de-camp_ , giving me access to your conversations with High Command and information on the Imperial Military. And the intel I obtained?”

He swallowed, feeling himself go pale even as he spoke. “How much of that was real? You gave me exactly what you wanted the Alliance to hear.”

It had all been for nothing.

“But then...why are you doing _this_? Why have you stopped me?” Eli held out his hands helplessly.

A ludicrous thought suddenly popped into his head. “Or possibly... No, it can’t be...” He lowered his voice as he asked, “Are you also a Rebel sympathizer?”

Surely it couldn’t be. A member of the High Command couldn’t have possibly become a traitor on his own, could he? It was so unlikely that it was practically impossible.

Wasn’t it?

The Chiss blinked, staring at him for a couple of heartbeats, and then he did the most unexpected thing: he actually laughed aloud, guffawing in open amusement, a spark brightening those glowing red eyes.

Eli felt his jaw drop.

He had no idea what was so funny about the whole notion, but that hardly mattered right now. What made him completely, _utterly_ mystified was the very fact that the cold, impassive Grand Admiral, the Chiss who kept his cool under all circumstances, simply burst out in laughter. It didn’t last long, a couple of seconds at best; but it was definitely a very _human_ -like laugh, and Eli could tell it actually took him a serious effort to put the cold, impassive mask back in place.

“Oh, I am truly going to miss these moments,” the Grand Admiral said once again in his smooth, cultured voice. Had Eli not just seen it with his very own eyes, he would not have believed such an abrupt change was even possible.

“One should keep one's allies within view and one's enemies within reach. But what if one falls into both categories? Or possibly, _hopefully_ , neither.”

Eli stared at the Chiss, growing more and more confused. “Your words make absolutely no sense, Admiral. As for my own choice, I don’t know… I simply believe in doing the right thing. This is not the service I originally signed up for anymore. We are supposed to _protect_ the people, Admiral, not shoot them.”

Eli frowned, straightening as he looked at Thrawn with disapproval.

“It’s as if the Galactic Empire is becoming a giant war machine, and you are at the very heart of that war machine, Admiral. If the decree of the Emperor is genuine, then soon there will be much more than the Seventh Fleet at your disposal. The Alliance has to know what they are standing up against, even if it means blowing my cover and sacrificing my life in the process of getting that information to them. That is all. I want to give my life _meaning_ , and standing up for the oppressed has a lot more meaning than simply following the orders of my superiors.”

“Oh, Eli Vanto,” Thrawn sighed, his expression softening imperceptibly, giving the rebel sympathizer a long, deep stare.

“You are certainly correct that the Empire is essentially becoming a war machine. It is that which makes it indispensable for the near future. For the things to come, I have need of a strong, militaristic government with a large, _enormous_ mobile fleet.”

Eli blinked. “Huh?”

The Grand Admiral took out a datadisc from his pocket and inserted it into the computer interface, switching on the holoscreen. The room suddenly turned into a holographic gallery—only, the 3D holograms that appeared weren’t the usual sculptures. Instead, they were images of real corpses, hideously mutilated humanoid bodies; the 2D pictures themselves were close-ups of the bodies, featuring the scars and tattoos.

“The Chiss call them Far Outsiders, Eli Vanto. And this,” he said, making a wide hand gesture in the general direction of the sculptures, “is their art.”

“Art?!” Eli shouted, feeling suddenly nauseated; it took everything he had to keep from vomiting. This was _sick_. This was beyond sick.

“You call this _art_?” he gasped disbelievingly.

Thrawn shook his head, his eyes staring intently at one of the corpses. “No, _they_ do.”

The glowing eyes focused back at Eli, and Eli was surprised to see that Thrawn looked as if he, too, was uncomfortable seeing the holos.

“Their whole culture is centered on pain; they tend to glorify it, not as a motive for action but rather as a state of living. They mutilate themselves in order to become closer to their gods, insisting on using purely organic technology, believing everything mechanical to be an abomination. They are coming with an invasion force capable of subjugating this entire galaxy, Eli Vanto; and their only goal is to cleanse it of all infidels, of all impurity, of all sentient life as we know it and replace it with their own. They cannot be reasoned with. They are brutal, merciless, and unstoppable.”

The red eyes went back to the holoimages, going over each, one by one, until they rested on a close-up of the most hideously looking scarred face.

“To defeat an enemy, you must know them. Not only their battle tactics, but their philosophy, their history, their art. These corpses are haunting me in my sleep, Eli Vanto; for no matter how many years I’ve already spent looking at this supposed ‘art,’ all I see is pain, suffering, and death. There is nothing that can make me understand their savagery. But then, there are things in the universe that are simply and purely evil. A warrior does not seek to understand them, or to compromise with them. He seeks only to obliterate them. Considering the supposed size of their invasion fleet, that goal can be reached only with the sheer, brute force of destruction. Desperate times call for desperate measures, Eli Vanto.”

Eli gulped.

The Grand Admiral openly admitted to failure? He openly admitted to having no idea how to defeat an enemy? Having no idea of what to do? Of being ... afraid? Desperate?

The Chiss gave Eli a long, contemplative glance. “This is the reason I was willing to go even to the greatest lengths, going as far as allying myself with a Sith, letting him put his shackles on me.”

He gestured at the white uniform, the pale blue lips marring in a sardonic smile.

Eli jumped in horror. “You made a deal with a Sith? What are you...”

Eli shook his head again, hit with yet another shock. “You can’t be _serious_. Emperor Palpatine is a Sith?!”

“Oh yes, Eli Vanto.” The smile on the pale blue lips widened, and the Chiss let out a strange, guttural sound.

“Emperor Palpatine is the master; Darth Vader is merely the apprentice. The truth is, the heroes and the villains of this galaxy are nothing but the two sides of the same coin. Chancellor Palpatine and Darth Sidious. Anakin Skywalker and Darth Vader. It is a terrible truth.”

“I think I really do need to sit down,” Eli mumbled, feeling his world suddenly turn upside down.

He lowered himself on the edge of the Admiral’s desk, gripping it with both hands as if to keep from falling off. This was much worse than he realized. Official history was nothing but a set of lies. Did General Draven of the Alliance Command know the truth? He probably did—but then, Eli never really belonged to the Rebel Intelligence. He was an Imperial officer whose findings at the Information and Supply Outpost made him disillusioned with the state of the Galactic Empire. Disillusioned enough to accept an offer from Captain Cassian Andor to use his knowledge of Thrawn’s species in order to approach him in the hope of being reassigned aboard his flagship, thereby opening up the opportunity to feed the Alliance intel on the Seventh Fleet. No one would possibly suspect someone like him to be capable of such betrayal, the Rebel Intelligence repeatedly assured him.

As General Bittenfeld somewhat bluntly but aptly put it in front of the whole of _Chimaera_ ’s StormTrooper Corps, Eli was the little lost bantha club.

Oh, _that_ part was certainly true. He hardly even needed to pretend, he had been so out of his element aboard the _Chimaera._ And he never expected that he would have been made an official _aide-de-camp_ to the Grand Admiral himself.

Thrawn raised an eyebrow. “You are so daring, Eli Vanto. First, breaking into my office, and now sitting on my desk. Although, to be honest, I shouldn’t have expected anything else from you. Feel free to use the refresher as well, I suppose.”

Thrawn's expression turned contemplative once again.

“It is so fascinating to compare Anakin Skywalker with Darth Vader, for they truly are two very different individuals. And yet they still remain one and the same. Recently I started wondering whether it was the Force itself that caused the change; whether it is somehow influencing him, poisoning his thoughts; that perhaps if there was a way to suppress the Force, Darth Vader, free from its poisonous influence, might revert back into Anakin Skywalker—or whether he might become an entirely different person. As you can probably imagine, it is somewhat difficult to experiment on a living subject possessing the power to kill with a single thought. Never mind.”

Eli watched the Grand Admiral, who was obviously lost deep in his thoughts. Still, his right hand was firmly holding the blaster, which, while not aimed directly at Eli at the moment, would only take a twitch of the hand to change. Running was useless. He had seen the Chiss during a practice fight with his assassin droids. He knew that he stood absolutely no chance of getting away. Thrawn would shoot him down within milliseconds.

“Curious that Palpatine claimed to have known of the Far Outsiders for as long as I have, yet he has never been able to identify them, for their spies have already infiltrated the highest circles of Galactic society,” Thrawn continued, seemingly unaware of Eli’s internal dilemma. “Indeed, he was rather shocked when I commented that it was very clever of him to keep agents of the Far Outsiders so close to him so he could keep an eye on their activities.”

He flashed Eli an evil smirk.

“Palpatine had literally no idea what I was talking about. Despite all his Force powers and all his self-proclaimed visions of the future, he could not see that there had been enemy agents right under his nose all along. And what’s more, the agents had the audacity to employ the very same tactics Palpatine himself had used in his own rise to power, becoming members of one of the most influential social orders in order to open the hidden doors to the Core Worlds.”

There was the slightest shake of his head.

“Oh, Palpatine was _furious_. He almost killed me in anger in the process. He is in a desperate need of anger management classes.”

Eli frowned. “How come you knew, then?”

Thrawn shrugged. “I suppose the primary reason is merely the difference between human and Chiss vision; we can see things that you cannot, including many things that may be hidden by outward appearances. I simply knew. I am afraid I cannot claim credit by saying it took a genius to figure it out.”

Eli barked out a laugh. He hoped Thrawn had tact enough not to put it that way to the Emperor.

“Do not misunderstand, Eli Vanto. Palpatine is building the war machine for his own purposes; indeed, he has his own, _very_ specific vision of the future. Only, he took it somewhat personally that someone else has been trying to snatch away his precious fiefdom from him—which corresponds nicely with my own goals, since he allows me use his ships and soldiers to fight not only the Far Outsiders but also the other threats with the potential to become just as deadly.”

Then suddenly, a horrifying idea came to Eli. “You said their agents already infiltrated the highest circles of Galactic society. What about the Rebel Alliance? How do they—we—well, whatever, fit into the bigger picture?”

The Grand Admiral shook his head. “Ah, no, the Rebel Alliance has nothing to do with this. Your intentions are certainly laudable; however, unfortunately your little freedom crusade happens to undermine all my efforts, hence my personal opposition. The military abilities of the Rebellion are undeniable, but their chances for long-term stability are nonexistent. Multiple species with multiple viewpoints and racial philosophies simply cannot not hold military power together, not without a central figurehead uniting them. Such a dominant voice must certainly be wise enough to adopt ideas and methods from its allies and member peoples, but there _must_ be a dominant voice, or there is only chaos. In this part of the galaxy, that voice is the Empire.”

Eli frowned. “If you know the Emperor can’t be trusted and yet you believe that the Empire as a whole is a better way of governing the galaxy, then wouldn’t it be better to overthrow the Emperor?”

Thrawn shook his head. “No. I need Palpatine as much as he needs me. Do you know why Palpatine appointed humans to all the important posts thorough the Empire? Why the military is almost exclusively human?”

Eli’s brow furrowed in thought. The first thing that came to his mind was that Palpatine was a human supremacist. However, the way the Grand Admiral put it suggested there must have been a different reason.

“I don’t know... He’s a Sith. Maybe it’s connected to the Force somehow?”

Thrawn smiled softly. “Very good, Eli Vanto. You have a bright mind. Palpatine is not a human supremacist _per se_ ; he surrounds himself with humans because he can influence them more easily than most near-human or non-human species, and he is especially skilled in a Force technique called the battle meditation.”

Thrawn’s eyes glinted. “That means he can coordinate his own ships and soldiers through the Force.”

“No _kriffing_ way,” Eli hissed. Did that mean what it sounded like? It couldn’t be! They couldn’t all be merely remote controlled puppets waiting to be activated upon the Emperor’s whim.

“That’s impossible.”

“Oh, I assure you it is possible,” Thrawn countered. “I have experienced the effects of the Force powers firsthand. And I am planning to make use of such highly valuable skills when the right time comes. It _is_ an alliance mutually beneficial for both. I need him as much as he needs me.”

“Are you even _listening_ to yourself?” Eli’s eyes narrowed. He was beginning to see where Thrawn was coming from, but his reasons and plans on how to deal with it...well, that was a different matter entirely.

“My hearing is perfectly fine, Eli Vanto,” the Grand Admiral said dryly, waving a hand dismissively.

Eli pulled down his cap and ran his right hand through his hair.

“Well, pardon my language, but if you’re trying to sway me to your side, then your persuasive methods suck, Admiral. You honestly think you’re going to convince me to let a Sithspawn run rampant over the galaxy for who knows how long, to go along with your insane plan of fighting one evil with another evil, all while threatening me with a blaster? Try again.”

It was insubordination of the highest order; but then, as the master manipulator had mentioned earlier, Lieutenant Vanto’s service to the Galactic Empire had been effectively terminated.

Thrawn flashed him an evil smirk. “Oh, Eli Vanto, you could melt the icebergs of Csilla with your attitude alone. However, you are most certainly correct in that my persuasive methods leave much to be desired.”

Abruptly, he stood up, holding the blaster out to him. “You may take your best shot. You will not get another chance.”

Eli blinked, sliding off the desk as he took the blaster from Thrawn’s hand. This could be his only chance to escape this situation alive. Grand Admiral Thrawn had only shown him pictures of a few alien corpses, offering an unsupported story about their origin; it all could have been part of a larger conspiracy, or he could have been playing a very different game.

Eli gripped the blaster with his both hands, pointing it right at the Grand Admiral’s chest, aiming for the heart. It took everything in his power to keep his hands from shaking.

“And now, perhaps we can engage in the real conversation, Admiral,” he said, looking the Chiss directly in his glowing red eyes. “You _really_ think your insane masterplan will work?”

The Grand Admiral raised a blue black eyebrow, his eyes first flickering down to the barrel pointed at his chest then shifting back to Eli, rewarding him with a long, contemplative glance. “I would have answered your question anyway, Eli Vanto.”

He shook his head and took a deep breath as if to steel himself. “And my answer is that I hope it will.”

“You hope it will?” Eli shouted angrily, suppressing the urge to strangle the Grand Admiral. “You _hope?!_ ”

Thrawn gave him a small shrug. “Your whole Rebellion is built on hope, Eli Vanto. I would have expected _you_ of all people to be able to understand my position.”

Eli let out a soft snort, rolling his eyes. “You are very confident. Have you ever been dead wrong? Have any of your schemes ever failed, Admiral?”

“Yes,” Thrawn admitted in a firm, steady voice, slowly inclining his head.

Eli blinked. “They did?” he asked skeptically. That was not the answer he expected to hear from the proud Chiss, actually.

Thrawn gave him a small smile, empty of all amusement. “Indeed, they did,” he confessed in a bittersweet tone. “It may come to you as a surprise, Eli Vanto, but even a man like me makes mistakes from time to time.”

“Oh?” Eli wondered aloud. This was growing more and more strange. “So what happens when you make a mistake, Admiral?”

“Usually, it results in a massacre.” Thrawn let out a soft sigh, and then his face hardened.

“Perhaps I should propose an alteration to the design of the grand admiral’s uniform. Crimson red would have been much more appropriate for a man of my standing, I suppose. Everyone would know immediately with whom they were dealing,” he said in a tone tainted with deep sorrow. It was more than apparent that this was not meant to be a silly joke at himself. He was deadly serious.

Eli shook his head, still aiming straight at the alien’s heart. “Your persuasive skills _really_ suck, Admiral.” 

Thrawn only tilted his head to the side. “I am simply telling the truth, Eli Vanto. It is hardly my fault that the truth is not to your liking.”

“Is that so?” Eli said doubtfully. “Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling me what kind of game you really are playing, then? No more krayt spit, Admiral. I want the full truth.”

Thrawn released a deep sigh, sitting back and steepling his fingers in front of his chest. He regarded Eli for a full minute before answering.

“The full truth is that the Chiss have their very own set of rules and their very own set of values, often completely different from the ones of your kind, Eli Vanto. They also have rather specific views on warfare which prevents them from engaging in pre-emptive strikes against their potential enemies, placing the Chiss Defense Fleet in somewhat difficult situation—rendering it basically useless, particularly against such ruthless enemies as the Far Outsiders. Therefore, I decided to take the task of defending my people upon myself; for many years, I had been manipulating all potential enemies of the Chiss Ascendancy into making the first move, until the inevitable threat of the Far Outsiders made the Defense Hierarchy desperate enough to make use of my somewhat controversial and unconventional tactics to save the Chiss people from total extinction.”

Thrawn looked pensive for a moment.

“At one point in my life, I had encountered humans; and not only had I managed to befriend them, but I also had maneuvered them into doing my every bidding. It was not done with malicious intent, Eli Vanto,” he added in response to the look that crossed Eli’s face.

“It was merely the best tactical option available, and I knew they could be trusted to carry out their part effectively. As a result, I was tasked with further undercover vanguard missions into the Galactic Republic, and later into the Galactic Empire, in order to determine whether the major galactic governing body could perhaps be used to deliver a devastating blow to the Far Outsiders. According to my in-depth analysis of the Trade Federation technology, the Far Outsiders would definitely want to strike down infidels who used such mechanical servants as the Trade Federation did. They would have attacked the Ascendancy eventually, but not before cleansing the known galaxy first. For once, the Defense Hierarchy agreed with my professional assessment that the religious fanaticism of the Far Outsiders is a weakness that could be used against them.”

He grimaced.

“Possibly their only weakness. And the Council of Families decided to take it further by suggesting that I could perhaps eliminate the other threats to Chiss non-combatants as I came across them, those which the Defense Fleet couldn’t deal with because of our Non-Aggression Law.”

Eli scoffed, shaking his head at the sheer absurdity.

Non-Aggression Law? Non-Aggression Law?! What great non-aggressors they were...the Chiss Ascendancy deserved a kriffing peace prize, Eli thought sarcastically.

“Oh, I can easily see them all secretly patting you on the shoulder, saying: ‘Thrawn, you nailed it. These humans are doomed anyway, so let’s use them to fight our wars for us so we don’t have to break our stupid rule.’ Emperor’s black bones, Admiral, your people sound really _wonderful_.”

Thrawn let out a soft sigh. “The Chiss do not ask to be judged, Eli Vanto. Not by you, not by anyone. Like I said, we have own set of rules and our own set of values, often completely different from yours. We are neither good nor evil; we are the Chiss. The full truth is that while the Chiss possess a natural curiosity about anything that catches their glowing gaze, whatever else happens beyond their limited range of vision is considered strictly none of their business.”

He fell silent for a couple of heartbeats.

“For all practical purposes, I have been sentenced to a life in exile after engaging in a pre-emptive strike, the most severe punishment available according to the Chiss criminal code, because only the most severe sentence would allow me to operate independently. Had I been successful in my mission, then I would have been granted official pardon and would have had my official position reinstated. Had I not been successful, then the Ruling Council could claim that I acted purely out of my own volition, thus denying any responsibility for my actions.”

Eli felt a creeping chill in his gut. “So, what you’re saying is that the whole galaxy really _is_ your blaster-fodder, then? Perfect, disposable front-line soldiers of the Chiss Ascendancy?”

Thrawn was sent here to fight a losing battle, after all. What would he have to lose?

To use Thrawn’s own words, a battle was won by strategy and tactics, and if the only thing one did was fight, they would inevitably die. Still, the Chiss Command apparently believed at least their undercover Chiss Security Bureau operative would live long enough to come back and use his experience to cut off the head of the monster as a reinstated commander of the Chiss Ascendancy Forces.

“I am a Chiss warrior, Eli Vanto, which means that by lending my services to the Galactic Empire, the Imperial citizens have become my responsibility by extension.”

“During my undercover missions into the Galactic Empire, I had come across an interesting name: Darth Vader. Further investigation revealed that ‘Darth’ was a title used among the so-called Lords of the Sith. And when I was brought in front of Emperor Palpatine, I recognized him immediately. His Majesty was none other than Darth Sidious, the same mysterious man with whom I had discussed the threat of the Far Outsiders years ago over a long range holonet transmission soon after with my first contact with humans. Since it was Darth Sidious sitting on the throne, not Darth Vader, it meant that I found myself face to face with an extremely dangerous Force-wielding individual whose powers must have been even greater than those rumored of Darth Vader. Such a threat to my people I would be unable to eliminate at that time; however, if I could sway this threat to my side, given that Palpatine already heard of the Far Outsiders, then perhaps something good could come of it after all.”

He let out a small chuckle.

“Given the efficiency of the Jedi generals during the Clone Wars, I had hoped to make an alliance with General Skywalker, and instead I unknowingly made an alliance with his new master. From a strategic viewpoint, I couldn’t have possibly wished for a more favorable outcome. I made the connection between Anakin Skywalker and Darth Vader much later, by the way. They truly _are_ two very different individuals."

“Once I discovered Palpatine’s true nature, I realized I could not only deliver a devastating blow to the Far Outsiders, but I could actually obliterate them using the combination of the Emperor’s deadly Dark Side techniques and the resources the Galactic Empire had to offer. Though without the help of the Chiss Defense Fleet, it still would have resulted in hundreds of trillions of unnecessary losses in the process.”

He shook his head. “That is unacceptable to me.”

“And I certainly do not plan to use my human warriors as disposable front-line soldiers, Eli Vanto. I intend to fight side-by-side with them in the upcoming war. My ultimate goal is to create the chimaera, a hybrid made up of disparate parts—Chiss and human warriors—strong and powerful enough to drive the Far Outsiders out and away with minimum collateral damage to the non-combatants on either side. There is still plenty of time. However, since the Chiss do not accept new ideas without careful consideration, it may take years, possibly even decades to bring the Ruling Council to the point where they would be ready for such radical change as allying themselves with outsiders on an official level. Until the time comes, Admiral Parck is willing to carry out my will and eliminate the other threats to the Ascendancy, as well as the threats to the Galactic Empire in my stead since Palpatine is rather adamant about my presence here in this part of the galaxy.”

Did this Admiral Parck know there was much more to Thrawn’s exile? Something told Eli that Thrawn was keeping the man in ignorance on purpose. He would definitely not want a man who was willing to give up his entire career for Thrawn to know how sneaky the Ascendancy government truly was.

 _Oh yeah, you really nailed it, Thrawn, what a genius you are..._   _C_ _rimson red uniform would suit you nicely._ _No wonder you don’t want that man or anyone else to know. No wonder you seek help from a Rebel…_

Thrawn gave him a long, measuring look.

“Eli Vanto, we now come to it, the reason for which I have chosen you as my aide and confidant despite your hidden agenda: I have envisioned you becoming an ambassador to the Chiss, representing humans and all other beings of the galaxy to my people. ‘Judging is acting on limited knowledge,’ states an ancient Chiss saying, and the amount of information the Ruling Council has on the so-called Uncivilized Territories remains severely limited. They need to realize that humans are more than mere savages who had once colonized the cold, inhospitable planet that would eventually give birth to the Chiss, and that they do not all deserve to be simply left to their fate. Not when the Chiss Ascendancy has the power to do something about it.”

Eli snorted. “What a wonderful image we have made for ourselves in the eyes of a third, neutral party that cares little for the never-ending fight between the Light and the Dark.” 

“Yes,” Thrawn agreed, slowly inclining his head.

“Based on the classified information I was privileged to see before coming here, the last time the Chiss were in contact with the known galaxy was more than three thousand six hundred years ago. And here you are, still waging your star wars only with different colored lightsabers. However, I am positive _you_ will be able to change the image of the Uncivilized Territories for the better.”

“Why me?!” Eli cried out in desperation. “How could I possibly pull off something like that?”

“Be yourself.”

Eli’s brain froze, and he stared at Thrawn like he had grown a second head. “That’s it? That’s the super secret masterplan of the great Grand Admiral _freaking_ Thrawn?!”

Eli kicked the desk in frustration. “Go change the hearts of the mighty, self-righteous Chiss Ascendancy by _being myself_?! That’s the best you could come up with?”

The Grand Admiral only raised an eyebrow at Eli’s loss of temper, leaning forward to inspect the desk for any possible damage.

“Eli Vanto, do you know the difference between a good commander and a great commander?”

“No. But I’m sure you do,” Eli retorted, still completely bewildered by Thrawn’s logic.

“You humans are truly insufferable sometimes.” Thrawn released a long-suffering sigh. “A good commander makes you believe he can do anything. A great commander makes you believe _you_ can do anything. You can do this, Eli Vanto. I _know_ you can.”

Eli felt the warmth coming to his cheeks. “You can’t mean that. I’m hardly perfect.”

Thrawn let out much deeper sigh this time, giving him a solemn look. “Sometimes I do wonder why I even try. No one is perfect, Eli Vanto. You don’t need to be perfect. You need to believe in yourself. That’s all it takes. In any case, I am confident you are the right person for the mission.”

“And why is that?”

“You are young. Pure. Innocent. You have never killed in your life. You never _could_ kill in your life, not unless it was in self-defense. And even then, such an act would leave you broken, shattered. You have all the virtues of humanity that I wish to present directly right in front of the shortsighted, glowing gaze the Chiss Ascendancy, Eli Vanto.”

Eli stared, speechless. Thrawn had _got_ to be kidding him! He had given him the blaster, knowing the whole time that he was in no danger. “You gave me the gun to make me feel in control in the situation. You knew I couldn’t have pulled the damn trigger.”

Thrawn gave him a faux innocent shrug. “Accidents happen, Eli Vanto. A gun can always misfire on its own.”

Eli’s eyes boggled. “A joke? You’re...you’re actually _joking_?!”

“Ah, yes, how low I have fallen.” Thrawn shot him a hard glare that reminded Eli of his father when he had been about to scold him for pulling an especially idiotic stunt.

“Eli Vanto, until now you have been feeding the Rebellion with the misinformation _I_ wanted them to know. However, had I not stopped you right now, I would have had to personally sign the order for your execution soon after. And I had no desire to do so. Not only because it would hinder my schemes.”

His expression softened imperceptibly. He shook his head.

“Join me, Eli Vanto. Become part of something bigger, _much_ bigger than your Rebellion. Give your life meaning. Help me forge an alliance that would ultimately save the lives not only of my people but of _all_ your people as well. Please give this message to Admiral Ar’alani of the Defense Hierarchy from Mitth’raw’nuruodo, the Syndic of the House of Humans: The Chiss are not the only ones who deserve to survive the Far Outsiders. After thousands of years, it is finally time for the Chiss to come to the assistance of their far-removed kin in the greatest war the galaxy is about to see.”

 

**THE END OF ALL ROADS LEAD TO CORUSCANT**

* * *

 

Eli is a Rebel in this verse, who would have ever thought? Now you know how Colonel Yularen must have felt. Also, you may re-read the whole story to see how many hidden clues you all have missed. If you want to hide something, place it in plain sight, and make it funny, that way no one will think you’re being serious.

Thank you for freaking 700 kudos in total! (´⊙ω⊙`)! The Freak Fleet galactic storyline is over for now; the further development depends on what they do with Thrawn in the Rebels Season Four. Are they going to kill him off? Will Thrawn remain in the galaxy? Will he leave for the Unknown Regions after the end of the show?

What could possibly go wrong if Thrawn decided to drop by and help Parck with something he was unable to defeat on his own? Oh, wait, a planet could blow up... *cough* In any case, I believe I have all the possible scenarios covered…

One thing is certain, I don’t want to write my own take on the Yuuzhan Vong invasion to the Galaxy: [The New Jedi Order](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/The_New_Jedi_Order) consisted of 20+ novels written by more than a dozen of well-paid authors, and I am writing this for fun in my own free time.

However, I’d like to write more Freak Fleet Files stories, jumping back and forth thorough the whole series, expanding the characters’ backstories even further. And perhaps write a couple of purely canon compliant stories with Thrawn and Eli, or purely legends compliant stories with Thrawn and Pellaeon. Their first meeting, perhaps? Pellaeon’s and Parck’s first meeting after _Hand of Thrawn_ duology, anyone?

* * *

 

Those of you who are unfamiliar with the Far Outsiders, aka Yuuzhan Vong, in Legends they were alien marauders that nearly destroyed the New Republic years after Thrawn’s death (25 ABY—29 ABY), responsible for the deaths of nearly 365 trillion (!!!) sentient beings during their invasion of the galaxy. Oh, and they certainly _had_ undercover operatives that had been sent to the galaxy as a vanguard, e.g.: [Executor Nom Anor](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Nom_Anor).

I merely made use of the [Order of the Canted Circle](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Order_of_the_Canted_Circle). Imagine how furious Palpatine must have been in my verse. (Since the Yuuzhan Vong were outside of the Force, the Jedi (or Sith) were unable to sense them or see through their disguise.) In the Chance Encounters, Pellaeon unknowingly cut right to the heart of the matter… 

_“Please continue, Captain,” the Chiss encouraged him, nodding his head fractionally, his blue face relaxed, “I simply wish to understand. Tell me what I had missed.”_

_It all started making sense. The only time when the Grand Admiral ever lost was when he had been missing a vital piece of information._

_“You cannot see,” Pellaeon realized, watching the red eyes go wide as if he had struck a nerve, as if he had said something of a much larger significance, “because it is not there yet. They cannot see it either.”_

_It all made perfect sense. Thrawn was able to follow people’s thought patterns as if was a second nature to him, as if he truly possessed the skill to see through their souls, the ability to read their minds. He was able to analyze their works of art, they spoke to him, told him everything about the beings that had created them._

_How could he see something that had not been there?_

_“Then how is it possible you can?”_

 (aka the moment Thrawn realized Palpatine had played him)

The situation became so desperate that the New Republic allied itself with the Imperial Remnant under the command of Grand Admiral Pellaeon, and eventually even the Chiss Ascendancy (which meanwhile merged with Admiral Parck’s Empire of the Hand) emerged from their self-contained bubble, at least for a short while.

BTW Guess what the Chiss scientists came up with, [Alpha Red](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Alpha_Red_\(pathogen\)), a biological weapon that could wipe out the entire Yuuzhan Vong species. It was never used, though. And later during the Killik Expansion ( _Dark Nest Crisis_ ) the Chiss came up with the idea of launching a parasite bomb which would slowly infect all Killik as it spread throughout the species.

So if you think I am making the Chiss look darker than they really are, well, I’m sorry to say that I am not. They are neither good nor evil; they are the Chiss. I don’t buy the Chiss being ‘good old samaritans’ or ‘saviors of the galaxy,’ a popular trope that popped up in fanfics soon after _Thrawn_ novel. Chiss are sneaky and manipulative (Zahn named them after _chess_ game after all), an overly proud species that doesn’t really care what happens to the rest of the galaxy ( _Outbound Flight_ , _Survivor’s Quest_ ). It doesn’t mean they cannot be changed, though.

* * *

 

My "conspiracy theory" on how Thrawn's exile to the Galactic Empire could have been fake even in the Legends: 

In _Survivor's Quest_ , the Chiss Ascendancy is basically freaking out because of a supposed arrival of a new, unknown threat (aka Far Outsiders/Yuuzhan Vong), thinking of evacuating the entire Chiss population into the Redoubt as their only hope for survival. Why? Well, because the Ruling Council realized that their field agent had failed in his mission, of course.

In _Hand of Thrawn_ , Admiral Parck did not believe Thrawn had been dead for more than a decade. He thought Thrawn had been on some secret mission or whatever ... And so he patiently waited, waited, and waited; only after Mara Jade's little job interview, and later upon discovering the Thrawn's clone's dead body in the cave, Admiral Parck, Baron Fel and Commander Stent must have realized that Thrawn had indeed died by Rukh's hand at Bilbringi, and the clone on Nirauan must have been Thrawn's back-up plan. 

In _Survivor's Quest_ , Admiral Parck then reluctantly admits to Mara Jade and Luke Skywalker that there are diplomatic relations between Empire of the Hand and Aristocra Formbi of the Chiss Ascendancy. So how did the Chiss Ascendancy get to know of Thrawn's death? From Parck, most likely. And then suddenly, a couple years later  the Empire of the Hand more or less merges with the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet, becoming sort of an independent operating unit. It all fits together like a puzzle.

* * *

 

PS: “The Reenlistment of Eli Vanto” is a nod to the “[The Reenlistment of Baron Fel](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/The_Reenlistment_of_Baron_Fel),” a story about Soontir Fel's recruitment into Thrawn’s services by Michael A. Stackpole and Timothy Zahn. Unfortunately, the story itself never got published, though it is my hope one day it will and then I will be able to finally read it. A fangirl can hope.

(I love Imperial Baron / Rebel / Assistant Syndic Fel of the Chiss Ascendancy, and his son, Jagged Fel: a human who grew up among the Chiss, and later even became the Emperor of the Imperial Remnant, falling in love with Jedi Knight Jaina Solo of all people, making her his Empress, founding the Fel Empire dynasty with the Force-wielding Imperial Knights as its protectors. He is the real BAMF.)

Obviously, In the Freak Fleet, it’s Eli Vanto who assumed role of an Assistant Syndic a few decades earlier. No. Allow me to rephrase. Eli Vanto is dead in this verse. It’s Assistant Syndic Mitth’eli’vanto of the House of Humans.

* * *

 

BTW The last paragraph is a nod to Jagged Fel's speech from _The New Jedi Order: Enemy Lines II: Rebel Stand_ :

_"I am not loyal to the Chiss because my parents were accepted by them, or because I have grown up among them. I'm loyal because they embody traits I admire and respect; they make those traits part of the very fiber of our society. Traits such as strength in the face of aggression, such as acknowledgment of duty before self-interest. The Chiss, however, are not the only people with admirable traits, not the only ones who deserve to survive the Yuuzhan Vong, and not the only ones I identify with. Not anymore."_

 


End file.
